


You Still Have All of Me

by footsieinthegarden



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Slavery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Starvation, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-10-04 20:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 65
Words: 310,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10288433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/footsieinthegarden/pseuds/footsieinthegarden
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire have been missing for four years with no clues to their disappearance. They find their way back to Les Amis after escaping, but will they ever be the same?





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm always sad when fandoms I like don't have more slave!fic, so I thought I would contribute my own. This plot bunny has been lodged in a brain literally for months now, and I finally had to start writing it down. 
> 
> I think the last time I wrote fanfic was as an underclassman in high school. I hope I've naturally improved since then, but I would really appreciate any constructive criticism! (Though I guess I can never break the habit of naming my fics after angsty songs from that time.)
> 
> For reference, I've read the Brick, seen the movie, and am familiar enough with fanon but never seen the musical, so hopefully none of my characterizations seem too off to musical fans.

Enjolras woke up. His eyes flickered open and then closed immediately. He was so, so hot. He must have misbehaved and been shoved into the shower with the water as hot as it could go. But that wasn’t right – he was completely dry. Enjolras realized there was something heavy and warm on top of him, though when he tried to push it away, he found his hands were secured to either side of his body.

He started to thrash, desperate to get cool, but suddenly a gentle hand put a cool cloth on his brow and then fingers were run gently through his hair. The punishment, whatever it was, must be over then, if Grantaire was being allowed to tend to him. But then why was he still burning?

He tried to open his eyes again, but suddenly his whole body felt like lead, and Enjolras couldn’t find the energy to accomplish even that small task. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Enjolras woke up. His eyes flickered open and then closed immediately. He was so, so cold. He must have misbehaved and been shoved outside into the rain. But that wasn’t right – he was completely dry. Enjolras tried to curl up into a fetal position to retain some warmth, but he couldn’t draw either of his hands into his torso. A rush of panic swept through him and he began frantically tugging on his restraints. He knew that was something only bad boys did, but his head felt so heavy already, and there was no room for anything else once the terror set in. He was going to freeze if he stayed like he was; he would just have to accept the punishment. 

All of a sudden he felt a soft thump and blearily managed to open his eyes a fraction. A pair of disembodied hands hovered over him, spreading out the blankets that had been deposited on the bed and tucking them snugly around his body. His eyes fell shut and he felt sick thinking about what Grantaire must’ve done to get them. The heavy feeling was creeping back into his body, but Enjolras needed to comfort Grantaire in return.

With a concentrated effort, he managed to open his eyes fully, squinting against the light. It made his head ache even more when he tried to focus on the man fussing above him. Enjolras opened his mouth, but promptly closed it when he realized that man was wearing glasses. Grantaire didn’t wear glasses, and neither did Master, not that Master would ever be doting on him like this. Enjolras felt like he should know this person, but he belatedly realized his eyes had closed again and he was much too tired to reopen them.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Enjolras woke up. He kept his eyes closed. He felt warm and comfortable, and also incredibly confused. He must be in a bed to feel as good as he did. Enjolras tried to remember where he had fallen asleep, but his memory was blank and he began to feel nauseous looking for an answer in the void. 

Occasionally Grantaire was able to move him in his sleep without waking him, but Grantaire would also never put him in a bed. Once, when he had strep throat, he had woken in a blanket nest on the floor of the spare bedroom, though Grantaire had been a vacant and robotic shell for days afterwards and would shut down completely if the incident was ever brought up. Enjolras never brought it up.

The only times he had ever been in bed were when he had been a very, very bad boy and Grantaire had been a very, very naughty slut and he had been forced to watch Master take Grantaire over and over and over again. Enjolras had only been able to strip the bed for laundry the next day by keeping his eyes shut the whole time. Neither of them ever brought it up.

That left Enjolras with absolutely no idea where he was and too afraid to open his eyes to find out. It was always better to at least have some idea of what would happen when he revealed he was awake. He wished he could open his eyes and find himself curled up in the crawlspace with Grantaire, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

Enjolras slowly, ever so slowly, reached his fingertips out to either side, and they quickly connected with cold metal. When he pulled his hands back in, he found they couldn’t get much further than his hips, fastened to those cold metal bars as he now realized they were, though the restraints were so soft he hadn’t recognized them immediately.

His head was starting to hurt. Master liked nasty surprises (though he insisted on calling them creative), but a warm bed with extremely soft restraints hardly seemed like something he would invent, as either punishment or simple torment. So slowly, ever so slowly, Enjolras opened his eyes a fraction, until he could just see from under his lashes. He knew from practice he would appear asleep, as long as he remained relaxed and kept his breathing calm.

It took a moment for him to adjust to the light, and then he realized he was looking at a clear glass wall, with a door set in the middle. Enjolras stayed very still and watched. At irregular intervals, men and women walked by, most of them in blue tops and black pants. The hallway seemed to likely have a dead end, as anyone who walked by to the left had previously walked by to the right. A few glanced in, though their gazes seemed to slide over Enjolras before focusing on something to his left. Again, so very slowly, Enjolras tilted his head to the left; the eyelash trick was much more obvious from an angle, but he didn’t know what else to do.

He opened his eyes again, with as much caution as he could muster, though he needn’t have worried. Two men were sitting on a small couch, and neither were paying any attention to him. Enjolras still kept his eyes like slits, just in case, as he watched them. The first man was slumped sideways, onto the second man’s shoulder, eyes closed, though he occasionally moved restlessly, and was probably more in a twilight state, rather than true sleep. He was wearing a white coat with a pair of glasses tucked into the breast pocket and a badge clipped to the waist pocket over jeans and a sweater vest. Enjolras tried to read the badge, but it was too far away, and staring at the letters made his head hurt.

The second man was perched in front of an open laptop, somehow typing furiously, even with the doctor’s head weighing down one arm. The typing seemed to come in intervals, as if he were chatting with someone. While this man waited for replies, he sipped at travel mug with a picture of a giant kitten on the side. Sometimes, when waiting for a longer period of time, he raked a hand through his curls or rubbed at his forehead.

Enjolras closed his eyes again. Seeing the doctor’s coat had triggered something, and he understood the blue-and-black people outside the room to be nurses. The word “hospital” floated up somewhere from his subconscious, and Enjolras fight off a wave of dizziness. Master would never let him go to the hospital; Enjolras was for hurting and suffering, and the hospital was the antithesis of that.

There was a sudden burst of noise from the couch, and Enjolras froze. Had he been discovered?

“What is it, Courf?” mumbled one of the men. It must be the sleepy doctor.

“Marius just talked to Javert. Apparently almost all the DNA they got from under Enjolras’s fingernails was cross-contaminated. The only match was to Grantaire. They don’t have anything else to run through the database.” This must be the man with the laptop, chatting with a man named Marius.

There was a rustle followed by silence. Then suddenly: “I don’t know what do now, Ferre!” The man with the laptop burst into tears. More silence, only broken occasionally by soothing sounds from the doctor, who now sounded much more alert.

“Joly told me Grantaire is going to be sedated awhile longer, but Enjolras’s fever broke overnight. I’m sure he’ll wake up soon, and then you’ll be able to ask him whatever you need.” Enjolras felt icy cold wash over him. 

The hospital. Grantaire. He was at the hospital. Grantaire was at the hospital. He had brought Grantaire to the hospital because Grantaire had coughed blood up all over the kitchen floor and had been almost too hot to touch. He had broken every rule Master had and brought Grantaire to the hospital because he was dying and there was nothing else he could do. Master had promised if Enjolras ever tried to leave again, Grantaire would be separated from him permanently and given to Them. And that’s exactly what had happened. Enjolras had somehow convinced himself it wouldn’t happen, but of course it had. Whatever punishments Master promised were always fulfilled. 

Enjolras realized his whole body was trembling, and he couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried. He was the one who had brought Grantaire here. He was the one who had caused Grantaire to be under Dr. Joly’s care. Just because the doctor in his room said Grantaire was sedated, didn’t mean Dr. Joly wasn’t currently sharing him with Master Bossuet and Mistress Musichetta. And Enjolras was restrained and under double guard. Grantaire couldn’t physically be that far away, but he might as well have been on the moon.

But suddenly, with a start, Enjolras heard a door click off to the side, and suddenly the laptop man’s crying was muffled. His heart started to pound. He needed to do something now, while he could. Enjolras didn’t know how many very’s would be needed to describe how much of a bad boy he was being, but if he had already broken all the rules, it couldn’t get any worse. 

He pulled on the restraints laterally and, again, found very little give. He bit back a cry of frustration, and one of his hands slid closer to him. Biting his lip, he pinched his fingers together and yanked back as hard as he could. With an excruciating slowness, his right hand slipped free. He went to undo his left, but saw at the last second, it was fastened with Velcro and would certainly have been audible to the men in the bathroom if he ripped it open. Taking another deep breath, he pulled his left hand out, though it was a little easier with his right to make space in the cuff.

Enjolras went to flip himself over the guard rail, too afraid to actually lower it without knowing how loud it would be, when a sharp pain ran through his inner arm. He looked down and saw an IV, attached to a catheter. He shut his eyes and wiggled the needle free of the port with his free hand. Though it didn’t hurt, it made him dizzy and weak, and he had to grip the bed rail for a moment to regain his balance. Crying was still emanating from the bathroom, as Enjolras inspected himself. He had on a pair of pajama pants and thick socks, topped with a green hospital gown. There was a sink next to the couch and glancing in the mirror above it, he saw he looked very worn and tired, but there were no visible marks on his face.

Could he disguise himself to look like a person and not a bad boy? At least for long enough to find Grantaire? He glanced around quickly and saw a coat thrown over the back of the sofa the men had been sitting on. Enjolras quickly tucked in his gown and put the jacket on. It was too short for his torso, and the gown made a noticeable lump around his stomach where it was tucked in, but it was the best he could do.

Enjolras swallowed hard and walked out of the room. A strong wave of vertigo overtook him when he thought again about what a bad boy he was, but he forced himself to focus and fight down the urge to run back into the room and apologize.  
He looked down to the right and saw a door with a bright EXIT sign above it, completely unguarded. It seemed too easy but he walked out it and into a quiet stairwell. He turned around, ducking so his head wouldn’t be visible from the small window set in the door and stared at the sign attached. Just like with the doctor’s badge, staring at the words made his head hurt again, but the sign was much larger and much closer, and he managed to work out that, if he tried to reopen the door, an alarm would sound. That explained why none of the nurses had ever originally come from that direction then.

He took a couple deep breaths, leaning against the wall, trying to think. Grantaire was dying – where would he be? The word ICU floated up in his mind, much like the way the word hospital had earlier. But where would the ICU be? Tears of frustration welled up in Enjolras’s eyes, but he blinked them away. 

Plenty of people must come to the hospital not knowing where to go, and there must be a way for them to find out. People must come in to the hospital somewhere. Exhaling shakily, Enjolras walked down two flights of steps until he reached the ground floor. He wondered belatedly what would happen if that door was alarmed like the one he had entered through, but it was fortunately open and deposited him into a small lounge area.

He looked around but didn’t see any clear signs on where to go. The few he could see on the ceiling all seemed to be names, rather than actual care descriptors. Just outside the lounge was a circular desk with a uniformed hospital employee sitting at a computer. Enjolras wavered a moment and then forced himself to approach, stepping close enough to hide the fact he had no shoes on and the awkward bulge around his stomach. The employee looked up and smiled. “How can I help you?” She gave no sign that anything was wrong.

Enjolras opened his mouth but found no sound would come out. 

“Here, honey, why don’t you write down what you need?” the woman said and pushed a post-it pad and pen towards Enjolras. He picked up the pen with a shaking hand and somehow managed to scrawl out ICU, though it wasn’t very legible. “Oh, you’re visiting someone in the ICU? No wonder you’re so upset. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly.” She lent down and produced a map, tracing a route with her pen. “Don’t worry, honey, everyone up there is real nice. I’m sure they’re taking good care of your person, and they’ll take care of you too.” 

Enjolras stared at the map and the line of pen. It was easier than reading the sign, but still hard. “Here, honey, why don’t you write down the name of your person and I’ll call up to the nurses station so they know they’ve got somebody to buzz in.” Enjolras picked up the pen again, but trying to write out all the characters of Grantaire’s name seemed daunting, and all he managed was to scrawl a clumsy R. The woman at the desk looked at it, hard, and Enjolras thought he might collapse. “I’m sure if that’s what you call your person, they’ll know who you mean.” She smiled at him and picked up the phone.“Go on ahead. They’ll be ready.” 

Staring at the map, Enjolras made his way to the elevator, trying to look as much like a person as possible. If he had fooled the woman at the desk, hopefully he could fool everyone walking by, intent on their own business. He called the elevator and as he waited, he suddenly jumped as a PA clicked on “Code Brown, Code Brown, floor three, floor three” and repeated two more times. After what felt like an eternity, the elevator arrived and he stepped on, miraculously alone, as the announcement clicked on again. 

Enjolras wondered what it meant as the elevator crept up to the twelfth floor. By the time he had reached the seventh, he was leaning on the wall for support and forcing himself to stay standing, exhaustion flooding him. A giant ICU sign greeted him as he got off. Off to his left was a door to a staircase and off to the right was a glass door with a keypad outside of it.

He walked up to the door and found it locked. He looked up and saw what must be the nurses station in the middle of the room beyond, though it was empty. Had the woman at the desk lied about calling up? The tears Enjolras had held back in the elevator crept up on him again, and he shoved some of the stolen jacket into his mouth to stifle the noise. He yanked and yanked on the door, and suddenly it opened outwards, knocking him back a step.

“Enjolras! What are you -” Enjolras somehow felt a burst of panicked energy as a blonde person in a snuggie stepped in front of him and managed to catch the closing door with his fingertips. The person made an aborted attempt to grab for him, but Enjolras pulled the door shut and felt a horrible thrill as now this other person was locked out. They continued to beat on the glass and call his name, but Enjolras turned around. 

There was only one way to go. He shuffled down the hallway as fast as he could manage, already worn out from the moment at the door. He turned a corner and froze when he saw Dr. Joly hovering at the entrance to a room, cane floating a few inches above the ground, as if he couldn’t decide which way to go. When he saw Enjolras, he startled but made his decision and came down the hall. Enjolras remained glued in place, staring at the cane in horrid fascination. He knew he would be beaten with it, he knew it, he accepted it, but he had to get to Grantaire first.

Dr. Joly took his gaze off him for a second, looking over Enjolras’s shouler, and, before Enjolras could think, let alone react, a pair of arms encircled his waist and held him firm. “Enjolras, you can’t be here right now.” Panic overtook Enjolras again at the words moreso than the surprise or even the restraint, but he was too worn out for it to even help that much. He struggled futilely against his captor, unable to get any leverage. He even tried slamming his head back, but whoever was holdng him was shorter, and it only made Enjolras dizzy. He finally dropped to his knees, trying to squirm away, but the person holding him easily followed him and kept his grip.

“Enjolras, please, you need to try to calm down.” The doctor who had been in his room was suddenly crouched in front of him. His glasses were perched back on his nose, and another wave of terror overcame Enjolras as he realized it was Dr. Combeferre. The badge he had noticed earlier swung from his pocket, no doubt how he had opened the door after Enjolras locked the snuggie person out.

Enjolras tried desperately to flail free one last time, as Dr. Combeferre closed in on him, still without any luck. He felt sick. He was literally outside of Grantaire’s room but couldn’t get to him. And assuming Dr. Combeferre hadn’t been lying earlier to the man with the laptop, who Enjolras realized with another wave of dizziness must be Master de Courfeyrac, Grantaire was asleep and would never know that Enjolras had tried so hard to get to him. 

Enjolras felt hands on his neck and slumped, giving in to the tears that he begun to sneak out on the staircase and at the ICU door. The hands hovered briefly before drawing away. Enjolras stayed on the ground, too emotionally exhausted to do anything but weep. He had no idea how much time passed, but he felt himself lifted and deposited into a wheelchair and rolled back out the way he came.

He tried to stop his tears, but he couldn’t. He was never going to see Grantaire again, and it was all his fault. 

He sobbed and sobbed, the whole way back to his room. Someone settled him back on to the bed and secured his wrists back into the restraints, though these seemed tighter. He had wasted his only attempt. Just like before. He really was just a very bad, very stupid boy like Master constantly reminded him.

Blankets were drawn up to his chest, though he frantically kicked them away in a sudden fury. The only person who ever gave him comfort like that was Grantaire, and he didn’t want it from anyone else, especially the people who had just dragged him away from Grantaire. Enjolras managed to get them down to his ankles, though now he was miserable and chilled, but that was somehow better than just the misery alone.

His IV was reinserted, and within moments he felt very tired and heavy. He knew logically it must just be sedation, but he dimly wished as his eyes closed of their own accord that it was something stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find it referenced anywhere online, but the hospital I worked at used Code Brown for missing adults. I did my best to research everything else, but I know Dr. Google is not a true expert.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize for writing so many words, but I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> I tried to re-read this chapter really carefully to make sure I didn't misgender Jehan, but please let me know if I missed it anywhere. With such a sausage fest, it is too easy to use only male pronouns without thinking.

When Enjolras woke up next, the first thing he felt was very tired. The second thing he felt was a crushing sense of despair that he had woken up at all. He assumed the sensation of falling from the sedation would’ve faded as the drug wore off, but his stomach continued to flip like when Master would shove him into the crawlspace with no chance to break his fall. Even if Grantaire happened to already be down there and could get there in time to help cushion him, the momentary bolt of adrenaline made him dizzy.

But he wasn’t in Master’s house anymore. He was in the hospital. His stomach gave a violent spasm and before he could even consciously register what was happening, Enjolras was vomiting bile all over the blanket that had been drawn back over him as he slept. His mouth burned with acid, and his face burned with shame when he tried to move his hands and realized he couldn’t even wipe his own mouth.

Before he could attempt to twist his head to his shoulder, a warm cloth was rubbing gently at his face and the soiled blanket was stripped away. Enjolras only got the courage to open his eyes when he sensed the person moved away, but he clamped them shut when he realized it was Dr. Combeferre. 

He tried to take deep breaths, but as soon as Dr. Combeferre returned, touching Enjolras’s shoulder very gently as he laid a clean blanket on him, Enjolras felt the need to vomit again. But it seemed he had already thrown up everything in his stomach, and all he could do was writhe as he dry-heaved. It appeared his feet had been shackled to the bed now as well, and while the restraints were just as soft as the ones on his wrists, the sense of total confinement triggered a sudden but dizzying wave of panic. 

Enjolras knew struggling was no use; he had barely freed his hands the first time with looser restraints, he had absolutely no chance of escaping the tighter bonds he had been put in, but he couldn’t stop. He had a vague sense that someone was talking to him, but all he could truly hear was the sound of his own hyperventilation. Usually struggling against his punishment would only earn him further torment, but sometimes Master like to push him into this state for exactly this reaction. Enjolras knew logically he couldn’t be kept like this forever - or more like it would bring no pleasure to his captors to keep him like this forever -, but the thought that it could happen thrummed inside his skull. He tried to imagine Grantaire soothing him after the last time Master had done this, but the thought that would Grantaire would never be near enough to comfort him again drove him even wilder.

All of a sudden, a heavy weight draped itself across his legs. Enjolras could barely breathe at this point, and he just about screamed when hands touched his ankles. He tried to squirm and wriggle away, but the weight stayed firmly in place. The sound of Velcro ripping seemed overly loud, and Enjolras made one more desperate attempt to get away before what must be new, additional restraints were wrapped around him. With a jolt of surprise, the weight lifted and his legs shot up towards his torso.

Blinking away his tears, he managed to open his eyes just in time to see Master de Courfeyrac lean over him and press his torso and his arms against the bed. It had been so easy to pretend to be brave when he had been alone, when They hadn’t even known he was awake, but as Dr. Combeferre reached around Master de Courfeyrac, Enjolras was dizzy with fear. But just as suddenly as the pair were there, they were gone and one of his hands was also free.

Enjolras practically collapsed into a fetal position, curling up towards his still-bound left hand. He felt sick and vulnerable at being forced to face the room instead of the wall, but at least he was more protected from blows than when he had been stretched out on the bed. 

The blanket he had tangled in his thrashing was put back over him, and while he wanted to kick it away, he couldn’t help but shift until it covered his entire body and head. Eventually, finally, his tears subsided and he managed to breathe more calmly. He closed his eyes and shuddered when he heard Dr. Combeferre return. He tried to pretend it was Grantaire come to stroke his hair and reassure him, but Enjolras knew that was a stupid fantasy; Dr. Combeferre had made it very clear he would never see Grantaire ever again.

“Enjolras, you don’t have to come out, but do you think you can listen to me?” Enjolras laid perfectly still. He hesitated to say he was jealous of anything that Grantaire went through, but he had seen him go limp and unfocused during some of the cruelest times Master had used him and have no recollection after the fact. Enjolras wouldn’t say he was jealous, but he wished, so hard that it hurt, that he could do the same thing at that very moment.

But instead he remained alert and firmly attached to reality. There was a long silence as Dr. Combeferre remained next to him.

“OK, Enjolras, that’s fine. You can stay like that while we talk if it makes you feel more comfortable. I’m just going to touch your arm a little bit to get to your IV, OK? I’m just going to give you something for the nausea and what I imagine is an awful headache.” There was another expectant pause, before a hand reached under the blanket and pulled his elbow out. Enjolras stiffened, but didn’t fight it. He hoped Dr. Combeferre was lying and he would be put to sleep again. There was no pain and soon enough his arm was tucked back in.  
Everything was quiet for what felt like a long time, but was probably only a few minutes, and slowly his crying-induced headache and nausea receded. Enjolras shuffled into a more comfortable position, not curled so tightly on himself now that his punishment seemed to be over. True, his one arm was still bound to the bed, but that seemed to be a more reminder what happened to bad boys than an actual punishment.

He sensed Dr. Combeferre return to his side. “Are you feeling better now, Enjolras?” Enjolras felt his neck prickle, not sure what the right answer was, but finally managed a jerky nod. The medication had done exactly what Dr. Combeferre promised, so lying seemed the worse choice. “That’s really good, I’m very happy to hear that.”

Dr. Combeferre took a deep breath before he continued. “I know you must be really afraid and upset, and I’m going to do my best to allay your fears, but I want you to know there’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling, OK?” Enjolras remained still and he was sure his head would have hurt if not for whatever was now in his veins. Dr. Combeferre wanted him to be calm, but was also fine with him being afraid? Was this a twist on one of Master’s favorite games, where instead of every answer being wrong in some way, every answer was right? That hardly seemed appealing from Dr. Combeferre’s perspective, but Enjolras assumed it made sense not everyone had identical tastes to Master.

“I’m very sorry the restraints were so distressing for you. I want you to know we saw the ligature marks on your wrists and ankles, but we ultimately decided the risk of you hurting yourself was greater. I see now that was an incredibly poor decision, and we should’ve found another solution, and I apologize.” This whole conversation was incredibly bizarre. Enjolras started to wonder if he’d also been given something to induce hallucinations or was maybe still sedated and in some sort of lucid dream.

Dr. Combeferre gave an awkward cough, and it sounded like he was wiping his glasses on his coat. The silence dragged on and on. It sounded like Dr. Combeferre meant to speak a few times but caught himself each time. Finally: “It was clear you were very distraught at being separated from Grantaire.” Enjolras thought this was perhaps the biggest understatement he had ever heard, and he began to dread what was in store. It seemed like Dr. Combeferre didn’t realize the separation was already the most terrible punishment he could endure and meant to put him through further agony. He had felt numb when they had hauled him out of the ICU, but even though he could hardly care what happened to him anymore, physical pain was still going to hurt.

“Enjolras, you can’t see him right now because he’s in the ICU and you haven’t been free from flu-like symptoms for 72 hours yet. I realize that might sound like an overabundance of caution, but he was…gravely ill when you arrived. We can’t risk having any unhealthy or potentially unhealthy individuals around him at this point. His immune system is too compromised.  
“I realize it must seem like an unbearably long time, but if you don’t run a temperature for another 36 hours, I promise we will take you to visit him.” Despite the blanket, Enjolras felt very cold. Dr. Combeferre was trying to trick him with the promise of seeing Grantaire to be on his best behavior. But he had already been so bad, he had no doubt Dr. Combeferre would be telling him 36 hours from now in the same soft tone that he had been a very bad boy and very bad boys don’t get to see their Grantaires as he had locked the restraints back on and Enjolras couldn’t bear that thought and wished again he could make himself stop listening and go back to sleep and-

There came a light tap on the door. Enjolras couldn’t bear it and pushed his head out of the blanket just enough to expose his eyes. He knew it was farcical to hope it was somehow a healthy and whole Grantaire knocking, but he wanted it so, so badly it seemed like he could will it into being.

Of course, it was not Grantaire. Enjolras didn’t recognize the person at first, but then he realized with a lurch it was the small blonde person with the snuggie he had locked out of the ICU. Today, or maybe just…later, given Enjolras’s uncertainty of the time, the blonde was now wearing what could only be described as an oversized floral top, in the style of an ugly Christmas sweater, over top a differently-patterned floral dress and black leggings, with a garishly purple messenger bag slung over one shoulder. This person didn’t seem threatening, but Enjolras knew they could only be here to seek retribution for the ICU incident. But it was too late – he had been noticed.

“Hello, Combeferre. Hello, Courf.” Both of these greetings were each followed by a rustling of fabric that probably came from a hug. “Hello, Enjolras.” He withdrew his head and braced himself. Whatever he was going to be getting, he was certain it wouldn’t be a gentle embrace. It turned out what he got was a very soft, gentle smile when he couldn’t take the uncertainty any longer and peeped out from the blanket again.

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Jehan, but is something wrong?” Dr. Combeferre sounded like he was worried but trying to disguise it, quickly glancing down at Enjolras and then away. Enjolras’s stomach clenched. This person – Jehan, though he was scared to even think the name without knowing what title to put in front of it – had been with Grantaire – had something happened to him? Enjolras bit down hard on the blanket to prevent himself from crying out and drawing any further attention to himself.

Jehan looked down and just shook their head. “No, Grantaire is still the same.” They smiled at Enjolras for a long moment. “Just an unpleasant…conversation with Javert earlier. Not that I expected -” 

Master de Courfeyrac, who had been silent this whole time, suddenly spoke up, interrupting Jehan. “Why were you talking to Javert? Was there an update I don’t know about? Is that why Marius seemed upset earlier?”

“I suppose so, but I doubt he was surprised. He knew what I was doing.” As Jehan spoke, they rummaged around in their messenger bag and produced a folded piece of cloth.

“Shouldn’t that still be with the police for evidence?” Master de Courfeyrac asked sharply, frowning, though Jehan didn’t seem fazed.

“It was going to be, until I explained to Javert that the Earth wouldn’t stop spinning on his axis if he processed the evidence ‘out-of-order’ so that I could collect it sooner.”

“Did you really say that?” Dr. Combeferre seemed duly impressed.

“Yes. Marius may have also told him exactly where he could put his rule book.” Jehan looked up from where they were fussing with the clasps on their bag. “Marius is probably upset because Valjean chose that moment to appear.” Master de Courfeyrac snorted and immediately began typing something out on his phone. Dr. Combeferre removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, though he seemed to be suppressing a small smile. Enjolras felt confused and lost, but at least Jehan had yet to hurt him.

That might be coming quickly to an end because Jehan approached the bed, though they stayed out of reach for the moment. “Hello, Enjolras,” they said again. “I felt absolutely awful about what happened yesterday and wanted to try to make it up to you in a way you would understand.” Enjolras curled up tighter again. Master sometimes liked to say he didn’t really want to punish him, before delivering some of the worst pain he ever inflicted, though it tended to be more passive, like putting him outside in bad weather or barricading him into a cabinet. Jehan extended the cloth they were holding towards Enjolras. Would it hurt him in some way? Then Jehan could leave and know Enjolras was hurting without actually having to do much.  
Enjolras swallowed hard and forced himself to reach out and take it with his free hand. The position made his grip awkward, and the cloth unfolded as he pulled it back to reveal a threadbare but soft t-shirt. He realized with a start it looked like the one Grantaire had sometimes been allowed to wear, when Master found the act of forcing him to undress more arousing than simply having him naked all the time. There were a few holes of various sizes in it, which certainly hadn’t been there before, though, so maybe it was a different one?

“I’m sorry some of it’s missing,” Jehan said sadly, seeming to read his thoughts. “The police wanted to keep those pieces for reference.” Enjolras looked rapidly between the shirt and Jehan. Was it really Grantaire’s? Enjolras tried to open his mouth to speak but felt too overwhelmed to do so.

“I know you must blame me, at least partially, for keeping you from Grantaire, and I can’t even imagine what your separation must feel like.” Jehan used a particularly loud petunia on their sleeve to swipe at their eyes. “Maybe I’m projecting, but I thought maybe having Grantaire’s shirt while you rest might help you feel better?” 

Enjolras looked back and forth again, with quick glances at Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac, who were watching with carefully neutral expressions. Finally, when it seemed like no one was about to stop him, he tucked himself back into his blanket and brought the shirt to his nose. There was a strong scent of detergent and disinfectant, but underneath was the unmistakable scent of Grantaire. 

The fact that he burst into tears didn’t really surprise him, though the force of his weeping did, as he buried his face in the shirt. Dr. Combeferre had been trying to manipulate him with promises of Grantaire, but here Jehan had brought him something physical to ease the pain. Even if they were lying about feeling bad, he would still have the shirt. He wanted to thank Jehan for the gift, but he still couldn’t make his mouth form words. Jehan seemed to understand, and they simply smiled at him.

Dr. Combeferre stepped forward and Enjolras gripped Grantaire’s shirt until his knuckles turned white, afraid it would be taken away. He relaxed minutely when Dr. Combeferre simply spoke softly in Jehan’s ear. They looked surprised but then softened and said, “Of course.”

“Courf, why don’t we go on a walk?” Dr. Combeferre said in a somewhat stilted manner.

“But I need -” Dr. Combeferre shot Master de Courfeyrac a look. “There's only 12 hours - I mean, sure, that sounds good. Let me just tell Marius.” Master de Courfeyrac bustled around in a burst of energy, while Dr. Combeferre turned back to Enjolras.

“Courf and I are just going to go for a short walk, Enjolras. Will you be alright with Jehan?” Enjolras struggled again with the question, but considering Master de Courfeyrac was already shutting his laptop, putting on his jacket, and firing off text messages all at once, there seemed no harm in telling the truth and agreeing.

In what seemed like a whirlwind, the two men left the room. Enjolras felt his stomach twist with uncertainty. Had it all been a trick? “Would you be more comfortable with both arms free, Enjolras? You just need to promise me you won’t do anything to upset your IV.” Enjolras nodded eagerly, unable to stop himself, and undid the restraint himself when Jehan smiled encouragingly. He immediately took Grantaire’s shirt in both hands, working the fabric around his fingers.

“Now, Enjolras,” continued Jehan, as they wandered over to what sounded like a small fridge, though it was too close to Enjolras’s bed for him to see, “do you feel up to eating something?” Enjolras stared openly up at Jehan, hardly daring to believe what was happening. They had brought him a gift that reminded him of Grantaire; ended Dr. Combeferre’s continuing, albeit mild, punishment; and now they were giving him something to eat when he’d done nothing to earn it?

“I know it’s not very exciting, but you need to start eating this way so you don’t get ill again.” Jehan held out a carton of milk, and Enjolras took it slowly. Jehan gave him another of those encouraging smiles and he fought to open it while not letting go of Grantaire’s shirt. Somehow he managed to open it without spilling. “I promise you can drink the whole thing, Enjolras, you just need to drink it slowly.”

Enjolras did as he was bid, nearly crying with how good it tasted. He thought it might be hard to force himself to slow down, but he wanted to savor every mouthful. Halfway through, he shifted his hands on the shirt and felt a wave of shame wash over him. Here he was enjoying his treat, without even thinking about what Grantaire was being given or, more likely, denied. He looked fearfully up at Jehan.

They frowned. “Is something wrong, Enjolras?” He still couldn’t make himself speak so he held a piece of Grantaire’s shirt out to Jehan, hoping they would somehow understand. Their frown deepened. Enjolras tried looking pointedly from the shirt and the milk back, willing Jehan to make the connection. Suddenly, Jehan brightened. 

“You want to make sure Grantaire’s eating as well, Enjolras?” Enjolras nodded, relieved he had been understood. “He’s asleep, so he can’t eat the same way you can right now, but I promise he’s not hungry. Does that make you feel better?” Enjolras nodded and went back to sipping his milk. By the time he finished, he felt sated and tired.

“Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep, Enjolras?” Jehan asked. Enjolras nodded again, feeling like he might be able to properly relax with someone so nice and gentle watching over him. “Would you like me to read to you? I have some poetry with me” Jehan asked, digging around in their bag again. “It seems to help Grantaire rest better when I read to him.” The idea had sounded appealing to Enjolras before, but now it was especially so, knowing it was something he could share with Grantaire, however distantly.

Jehan took a stool out from under the small desk at the foot of Enjolras’s bed and wheeled it over to Enjolras’s bedside and began to read. Enjolras tangled his arms through Grantaire’s shirt and closed his eyes. He found it too hard to focus on the actual words Jehan was saying, but their cadence was soft and soothing nonetheless. He still had no idea who this strange person was, able to apparently to cow intimidating people but remain so gentle towards others. Slowly, he drifted off, finally feeling some measure of calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Google informs me starvation patients should be given milk for the first few days to avoid Refeeding Syndrome. As much as I love the trope of feeding the newly rescued slave lots of good things right away, I wanted to try to be a little more medically accurate. I played a little fast and loose with the legal details though, to hopefully make it a more interesting narrative.


	3. Chapter Three

Enjolras woke up feeling more refreshed and clear-headed than he could remember being in a long time. Even the time Master had gone away for a whole weekend and he was able to spend a glorious two days holding Grantaire hadn’t left him feeling as good; the carefully undiscussed but keenly felt fear that they might be trapped in the crawlspace forever made it too hard to relax completely.

The thought of Grantaire brought him back to reality. Jehan had been so kind and gentle earlier, maybe they would even let him see Grantaire, or at least give him an update on his condition. He felt a little sick at the thought of asking for a favor, but Jehan had given him Grantaire’s shirt, even after all his earlier misbehavior towards them, so if they said no, maybe they would at least not hurt him too badly for asking.

Enjolras drew the shirt back to his chest, realizing with a start he had lost his grip on it in sleep. He would have to be very careful from now on to keep it under his blanket. He couldn’t bear the thought of it being taken while he slept. The idea of waking up and once again having no ties to Grantaire made him dizzy, and he pressed his nose into the fabric.

“Good morning, Enjolras.” 

Enjolras would’ve jumped about a foot in the air, if he hadn’t been for the restraint once again around his wrist, keeping him relatively immobile. He looked up through his eyelashes to find, with horror, that Jehan was gone, replaced once again by Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac. There would be no asking for Grantaire now. It would’ve been easy to let the despair bring him crashing down, but Enjolras found his thoughts easier to focus on and place into order. 

He had briefly escaped these same two men before, hadn’t he? His bonds had been more numerous and he had been so tired and terrified, but he had done it. Surprise had been his biggest aid then, but surely he could do better than luck and coincidence with a bit of planning? He still felt a surge of adrenaline at the very thought of disobeying, but it was lower and steadier than before, giving him a bit of extra energy but with the endurance to serve him, instead of master him.

Enjolras twisted the shirt around his hands. It had been absolutely terrifying when he had begun to sneak extra food from Master and hide it in the crawlspace for times when he was starved for punishment or Grantaire seemed more lost and adrift than Enjolras could fix with quiet words and gentle cuddles. Stealing pudding had been his crowning achievement – not only did Master buy it in limited quantities that made a disappearance more noticeable, Enjolras also had to sneak the empty container back out. But seeing the small bit of happiness the treat could bring Grantaire made all those short moments of panic and long hours of low-grade anxiety worth it.

If he could risk a beating for a pudding, then couldn’t he risk a lot more to try to get to Grantaire again? He felt cold thinking about the restraints Dr. Combeferre had put him in after the first escape attempt, but holding Grantaire’s empty shirt made him ache even more.

And this time he would know where he was going. He supposed it was possible that Grantaire had been moved, but even Dr. Combeferre had seemed concerned about how sick he was, so it seemed reasonable to assume he was still in the ICU, even if he been placed in a different room. That still left the problem of the locked door.

Enjolras felt sure all the nurses responsible for buzzing people in would’ve been warned about letting him in. But he also knew the desk wasn’t occupied at all times – if he had had a key the first time, he could’ve walked in without a problem. And who had a key? Dr. Combeferre. And who was in the room with Enjolras? Dr. Combeferre.

Someone lightly touched Enjolras’s shoulder and he started again. Dr. Combeferre was standing next to him, frowning, holding a carton of milk like the one Jehan had given him yesterday. “Are you feeling feverish again, Enjolras?” Dr. Combeferre asked, moving his hand to feel Enjolras’s forehead. Enjolras stiffened under the unwanted contact. Dr. Combeferre must’ve been trying to get his attention for some time, and Enjolras could only hope he wouldn’t be asked what he had been thinking about so intensely as to ignore orders.

Dr. Combeferre finally removed his hand and forced a smile back on his face. “Do you think you could manage to drink another milk, Enjolras?” Enjolras accepted the carton readily, opening it more easily than yesterday. “Remember, small sips,” Dr. Combeferre said before stepping away.

Enjolras realized he had missed a perfect opportunity to steal the doctor’s badge. The fear of having someone so close and touching him had overcome his initial bravado. He took even smaller sips of the milk this time, trying to think. Dr. Combeferre would have to come back to take the empty carton. He supposed it was possible for Master de Courfeyrac to do so as well, but given how was currently typing on his laptop at record pace, it seemed unlikely. Dr. Combeferre was merely sitting on the couch, staring at his hands.  
It didn’t seem like that simple task would give Enjolras enough time to unclip the badge without notice and then conceal it properly. He glanced down at the wrist restraint. Jehan had let him take it off – he could reasonably ask Dr. Combeferre to remove it again. 

It didn’t really matter if Dr. Combeferre agreed and took the time to undo it or refused and continued the torment. The first would take time and more concentration, the second would give Enjolras a chance to beg for as long as he needed. Master had never seemed very pleased with his begging, often hurting Enjolras to the point that he lost track of reality and completely broke down, but Enjolras thought he could fake it satisfactorily enough for his purpose this time. It would be much easier later, obviously, if Dr. Combeferre took the first option and the noisy cuff was already off, but he imagined with enough time he could work it open on his own, hook by hook.

When he finished his milk, he rolled onto his side, holding the empty carton in his left hand and tucking his right hand in Grantaire’s shirt. He didn’t like the idea of letting go of it to grab the badge, but hopefully Dr. Combeferre would pay less attention to his free hand if he also thought Enjolras wouldn’t want to move it.

He waited a surprisingly long time, given how quickly Dr. Combeferre seemed to usually appear. Finally, Master de Courfeyrac paused in his typing and glanced up, then nudged Dr. Combeferre, who sprang up as if suddenly awakened from a dream. Enjolras’s heart pounded in his chest – waiting to purposely disobey always built his fear up to a crescendo.  
Dr. Combeferre approached and took the carton. “Thank you, sir,” Enjolras said, barely above a whisper. Dr. Combeferre had been about to step away but stopped, looking startled. If Enjolras didn’t press this small advantage, he would lose the chance entirely. Now, now, now, thumped his heart.

“Please, sir, have I been good enough?” Enjolras asked, indicating his wrist. Master de Courfeyrac had stopped typing and the room fell deathly silent. The only sound Enjolras could hear over his heart was the buzzing of the lights above him. It dragged on and on, but Dr. Combeferre stayed just out of reach. Enjolras kept his hand wrapped in the shirt motionless.

“Enjolras, I didn’t put that on you because you were bad. I put it on because I didn’t want anything happening to your IV while you slept.” 

“Please, sir, I’m not sleeping anymore.” It was the lamest of excuses, Master would’ve just laughed in amusement and slapped him a few times. But Dr. Combeferre shoulders slumped and he stepped forward to undo the cuff. It was happening much faster than Enjolras had anticipated, so he forced himself to whimper and struggle when Dr. Combeferre’s hands met his skin. Dr. Combeferre made a shushing sound in response but did slow down. 

Enjolras unclipped the badge from Dr. Combeferre’s waist pocket and pulled it back into Grantaire’s shirt. When Dr. Combeferre finished and turned to move to the trash can with the carton, Enjolras clipped the badge into one of the shirt’s holes so that he wouldn’t lose it. Momentary exhaustion crept in at this victory. The initial act could be such a rush, but it was imperative to keep up a pretense of calm (or fear or sadness or whatever Master expected in that particular moment). 

The first time Enjolras had tried to steal, he chose the end of a loaf of bread Master had thrown in the trash, but he held it so long after retrieving it, shaking with both pride and fear at breaking a rule, that Master, coming back into the kitchen, had caught him. Or rather, he almost caught him. Grantaire had grabbed it out of his hands like lightning and taken the blame.  
Enjolras spent the rest of the evening sobbing outside the bathroom, where Master had dragged Grantaire by his hair, and scratching futilely at the door, listening as Grantaire balled his way through an enema. When Master finally emerged, pink-faced and smirking, he flicked the light off and used what should have been the emergency key to lock the door behind him. He finally seemed to tire of the joint tears, and had eventually hauled Enjolras to the crawlspace and forced him in. Enjolras sat under the vent that fed into the bathroom and listened to Grantaire cry for hours.

He was very, very careful after that when stealing.

Dr. Combeferre’s hand touched his shoulder again and he flinched. Apparently he had drifted again. Steady, steady, steady, he told his heart, worrying he had been caught.

Dr. Combeferre merely smiled again, less strained than before. “Enjolras, I know this must be a lot to ask, but do you feel up to answering a few questions for Courf? I don’t want you to overtax yourself, but it’s incredibly important.” 

“Well, they’re not really my questions, Ferre, I’m just his advocate,” Master de Courfeyrac interjected, frowning slightly, as he rested his chin on the edge of his laptop screen. Enjolras sat perfectly still. He didn’t like the sound of questions. The badge and his no doubt temporary freedom were vital to getting to Grantaire, and a round of questioning was bound to end in punishment and the loss of one or both of those things. But if he said no, things would stay the way they were; Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac would probably go back to sitting on the couch, and he doubted he would get any chance to leave unnoticed. 

“Enjolras?” Dr. Combeferre prompted. Enjolras gave a jerky nod. 

“Wonderful! I’m really, really proud of you, Enjolras,” exclaimed Master de Courfeyrac as he sprang up from the couch. “Come on, Ferre, I’m going to need your smart doctor words.” Master de Courfeyrac grabbed Dr. Combeferre’s hand and practically dragged him out of the door, though Dr. Combeferre stopped him before he could be completely removed.

“Enjolras, I need to go with Courf to explain your condition to the detective before she talks to you. It’s really important you stay in bed, OK? Rest is one of the best things for you right now.”  
At the word detective, Enjolras could swear he felt the earth rock underneath him. The thought of answering questions for Master de Courfeyrac had been terrifying but it was an acceptable risk nonetheless. But he couldn’t talk to the police. He a vague memory of trying to dial 911, a very long time ago, but the memory of his hands been trapped in mitts for days and days and days afterwards until he thought he would lose his mind was anything but vague. The thought of talking to an actual police officer in person made him want to vomit – so he did. 

Enjolras coughed and gagged. A passing nurse poked her head. “Are you alright there, honey?” Enjolras nodded reflexively. “OK, well, if you need help in the bathroom, just press the call button, alright?” He nodded again.

He worried Grantaire’s shirt in his hands and felt the badge, hard and cold amidst the soft and warm fabric. It didn’t matter how scared he was, he had to go now. Closing his eyes, he got the IV out of his catheter on the third try. It made him slightly less woozy than it had the first time. Rolling over the bed rail, his gaze caught on the sick soaking into the blanket, and he thought about the nurse. Shuffling over to the bathroom door as fast as he could manage, he found the light switch, turned on the lights, and then closed the door from the outside. If Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac returned and saw the vomit and the shut door, perhaps they would believe he was in the bathroom for long enough to give him some extra time.  
Enjolras took a steadying breath and entered the hallway, heading towards the same door he had used before. He was almost surprised that the same route was open to him, but he also knew it was important to not get caught up in the why while trying to disobey. It would be important to analyze later, for future attempts, but not now. 

Enjolras walked out through the same lounge, this time occupied by a solitary man, engaged in what looked like some sort of complicated crafting project, and he gave the information desk he had visited before a wide berth, even though it was empty. He passed a few windows on the way to the elevator he had taken before and noticed it was pitch black out.  
He squeezed Dr. Combeferre’s badge until the edges hurt his hand, trying not to think about the last time he had been outside. Trying not to think about how Grantaire had felt so very heavy yet so very light at the same time. Trying not to think about hot and sticky Grantaire’s hacked up blood had been, even through his clothes. Trying not to think about how his own head ached and he wanted to do nothing but lie down and die.

The elevator took much longer to arrive this time. As he waited, one leg bouncing against the floor involuntarily, Enjolras caught sight of the reflection of the man from the lounge in the window. He came towards him, steady and sure. Enjolras wanted to bolt but forced himself to stay still. The man’s dark curls reminded him of Grantaire, but he was otherwise completely unfamiliar. Enjolras needed to stay calm and act like a normal patient going for an evening stroll, or he would draw unnecessary attention. 

Finally, the elevator doors slid open. With a burst of noise, the man behind him sprinted forward, and Enjolras just managed to hit the door close button in time. As he rose floor by floor, his unease grew. It seemed reasonable to think the man was just hoping not to wait for the elevator to return, but he had also been completely engrossed in his work when Enjolras had passed him. He had gotten to the elevator so fast, he must’ve left his project behind to do so. Enjolras selected the button for the tenth floor. 

That floor seemed to be some sort of office suite and was dark and silent. Enjolras looked around and saw the entrance to the staircase. He thought he heard something louder than his heartbeat, and he drew back quickly from the door, into the darkness of what seemed to be a reception area. Through the window to the staircase, he saw the dark head of the man from the lounge fly by. He forced himself to keep waiting, leg drumming again of its own accord. A few moments later, he heard a door above him open and slam closed. Immediately after, he heard the soft bing of the elevator and shuddered. If he hadn’t gotten off early, he would’ve been caught.

After what felt like too long and not nearly long enough, Enjolras finally forced himself to enter the staircase and began climbing the remaining two floors to the ICU. He crouched down and then peered up through the window. It didn’t offer a clear view of the whole vestibule, but what he could see was empty. Trembling, he opened the door and closed it softly behind him.  
The nurses station was empty. Enjolras’s hand shook violently as he held up Combeferre’s badge to the reader, feeling nauseous for a second at the thought that it wouldn’t work, but the reader immediately emitted a happy beep and the door made a quiet thud as the lock disengaged. 

Enjolras knew how to get back to Grantaire’s room, it was simple enough, but there was no sign of the mysterious man from earlier. Enjolras wanted nothing more than to rush to Grantaire’s side, but he didn’t want to waste everything he had done so far. 

He forced himself to walk around the nurses station and sit under the desk, silent and still. It felt too close to confinement for him to feel entirely comfortable. He stared at one of the overhead lights until his eyes hurt, reminding himself he could get up whenever he wanted. But instead he waited.

After what felt like an eternity, he heard several people walking towards the station, though from different directions. He bit Grantaire’s shirt until his jaw started to ache when he picked up on a tapping that could only be Dr. Joly’s cane. 

“Did anyone find him?” an unknown voice asked, out of breath.

“No. I don’t understand. The ICU isn’t large enough that he could’ve avoided all of us at once,” said Dr. Joly, tapping his cane against the ground. Enjolras flinched each time.  
“Perhaps he never came up here after all?” Jehan asked, softly.

“But he got in the elevator ahead of me, and I never saw him on the stairs. I got here as the same time as the elevator. He obviously got out on a lower floor and still managed to beat me here.” The unknown voice belonged to that unknown man. He let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t mean to panic him. I just wanted to reason with him, calmly.”

“I just don’t understand. We knew he was a flight risk, but I can’t imagine him going anywhere but straight to Grantaire.” Dr. Joly tapped his cane against the nurses station this time and Enjolras didn’t know how he managed to repress his scream.

There was a long moment of quiet. “Maybe he waited on a lower floor for you to go by, Feuilly,” Jehan said, still soft. 

“That would be a long time to wait alone, probably in the dark,” Dr. Joly replied, skeptical.

There was another silence. “Don’t you think Enjolras would do whatever he needed to in order to get to Grantaire, even if it was scary and hard?” Jehan was so quiet, Enjolras almost couldn’t hear him. “If he needed to avoid Feuilly, he might try hiding instead of running.”

Both of the other men seemed to deflate, but then jumped a moment later when there came a frantic knocking at the door. One of them went to open. At least one of them was Master de Courfeyrac, not quite managing to keep his sobs to just hiccups. “I’m so sorry, everyone.”

“It’s not your fault, Courf,” said Dr. Combeferre in a tone that suggested it was not the first time he had said it, though it was still patient. “I’m even more to blame – I’m the one who got my pocket picked and untied him.” A pause. “Where is he?”

“We haven’t quite managed to find him yet,” said Feuilly. “He took the elevator, but not all the way up. Jehan has suggested he might be hiding on another floor.”

“It would be easy enough to check with all of us,” said Dr. Combeferre thoughtfully. “The next five floors down are all locked office suites I don’t have access to. I think it’s reasonable to assume he would’ve taken the elevator as far as possible. He may be running on adrenaline, but he will become exhausted very quickly.”

“I can stay here and watch the door,” offered Master de Courfeyrac, still hiccupping. “In case he gets around anyone.” Enjolras would’ve been sick if he hadn’t thrown up so recently. 

“Why don’t I stay?” countered Jehan, still soft. “He seemed comfortable with me this afternoon. I’m sure the last thing we want for him right now is to panic and hurt himself if he sees someone that frightens him when he’d be that close to Grantaire.” There were murmurs of general assent and everyone but Jehan walked out into the vestibule. Enjolras could hear a muffled discussion before the stairway door opened and closed a minute later.

So quiet he didn’t even hear them, Jehan walked around to behind the nurses station and knelt in front of him. They stared at him, but not in a way that made Enjolras feel particularly scared. “Would it be alright if I hug you, Enjolras?” Jehan asked finally.

The question surprised Enjolras. While he and Grantaire tried to spend as much of their time as close together as physically possible, they were almost never in a position to exchange a hug. The risk in the house was simply too great, and Enjolras was too tall to even kneel up straight in the crawlspace. The thought of Jehan hugging him sounded nice, so Enjolras managed to nod. 

Jehan leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him, holding for a long moment, before drawing back. “I can’t imagine how hard it was to wait.” Enjolras looked up at Jehan, eyes filling with tears. “Would you like to go see Grantaire now?”

Enjolras tried to nod and stand up at the same time, bumping his head on the edge of the desk as he did so. Jehan steadied him, and then took his elbow, guiding him down the hall. They led him into a cramped room. There was a small couch like in his own room, with a dark-haired woman he didn’t know curled up on it. Enjolras glanced fearfully at Jehan.

The woman looked up from her magazine, and her gaze flicked between them. “You know I don’t give one shit, Jehan, let alone two.” She looked back down at her magazine, uninterested.

With that, Enjolras managed to look away and over to the bed. It was Grantaire.

He burst into tears, all the tension and fear from earlier draining out of him in a rush.

He had done it. He had gotten to Grantaire. 

He felt like the sight of Grantaire in the ICU should be more distressing, but Grantaire was alive and he was at ease and that was more than Enjolras had ever dared hope for. There was a flick of a magazine behind him, followed shortly by the clack of knitting needles.

A monitor beeped loudly next to the bed, though Enjolras couldn’t really register what it did beyond taking Grantaire’s pulse. Grantaire’s mouth was held open with a tube running into it, and Enjolras imagined it must be to help him breathe. It was horrible if he thought about it too long, but Grantaire was asleep and not coughing up a lung, and that made it acceptable. The large IV inserted into Grantaire’s neck did make him a little weak in the knees, but then again, so did his own.

His tears hadn’t stopped, but he leant down to kiss Grantaire on the forehead. I love you.

He reached a bit awkwardly to reach the free side of Grantaire’s neck and stroked it gently with his thumb. I’m sorry.

He finally grasped Grantaire’s hand and rubbed the knuckles over and over and cried and cried. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he heard a commotion in the hall. The searchers were coming back.

“Oh, no,” said the woman in a put-on voice, drawing out each word. “I think I just saw Enjolras go by in the hall. I should tell everyone.” She opened the door and drew the curtain shut behind her as she left. The sound of knitting continued.

Enjolras cried himself to absolute exhaustion. He couldn’t have been awake that long, but he suddenly could think of nothing but sleep. 

“Do you want help, Enjolras?” Jehan asked, setting their knitting aside. They came over to the bed and lowered the rail, helping Enjolras to climb up. Enjolras was terrified of upsetting any of the equipment connected to Grantaire, so he slid down until he could use Grantaire’s stomach as a pillow. The steady rise and fall was more comforting than anything he had known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seriously the least artistic person to walk the planet, so I left Feuilly's craft of choice purposely vague because I couldn't think of anything specific, (other than needlecraft, but I can't imagine him doing Jehan's hobby as a business of his own). I sort of headcanon Feuilly as running an Etsy shop, at least on the side, but I don't know what the modern equivalent of fan-making would be.
> 
> I also have been picturing Enjolras as a selective mute in this, which from what I've read, is thought to be an extreme form of social anxiety, where the person fears embarrassing themselves in front of others and so doesn't speak, except around a select group of people. I felt like it would still be acceptable to have Enjolras talk in that context if the goal is to humiliate himself anyway. (Yes, I put way too much thought into this.)


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I started writing another hospital chapter and wasn't very happy with it, so I ended up writing 4000K+ words of an indulgent angsty E/R hurt/comfort flashback instead, because who doesn't love that? (I mean, the Internet seems to assure me I'm not the only one, at least.) I had been debating what order the chapters should go in anyway, so I thought I'd go with this way. I promise at least some of it is setting up plot for later!
> 
> ***Trigger warning for rape and physical abuse in this chapter.***

Every fiber of Enjolras’s body ached. He had had his share of injuries in the past, both sharp and dull, and also knew well the bone-deep exhaustion of standing all day at a protest or running around everywhere to keep an event running smoothly. This pain was on a whole different level. Even thinking hurt – but he was determined to do it anyway.

He wanted to slam the dryer door shut but had to settle for closing it slightly more forcefully than necessary. Their captor had bound his arms behind him for hours yesterday, for no particular reason, and his shoulders still throbbed. Enjolras was fairly certain he hadn’t torn anything, but he was also absolutely certain it still hurt like hell. 

He jumped about a foot in the air when he turned to pick up the laundry basket and found Grantaire curled up at the door to the small laundry room. 

“It’s just me, Apollo,” Grantaire said, though he didn’t quite achieve the light-hearted tone he seemed to be aiming for.

Enjolras’s stomach flip-flopped for a moment, nervous that their captor had finally tired of Grantaire and had sent him to get Enjolras as a replacement. He dropped his laundry basket on top of the washer, willing himself to keep a neutral expression. Grantaire looked up only briefly, but it was long enough for Enjolras to see the deep, dark circles rimming the other man’s red and puffy eyes. “Master didn’t send me to fetch you, if that’s what concerns you.”

Enjolras thumped his hand against the dryer, though he immediately had to close his eyes and take deep breaths against the waves of pain radiating through him at even that small act. “Don’t call him that, Grantaire.” He could hear it start to rain, and every drop of water on the roof seemed to send an individual burst of pain through him.

Grantaire shrugged, but looked away. Enjolras stared at the pile of laundry he had to fold. It shouldn’t make him feel exhausted just thinking about it, but it did. Grantaire stood up, bracing himself against the wall for a moment, before stepping over to Enjolras. Enjolras glanced up but quickly turned back to the laundry, trying to give Grantaire some privacy, despite his nudity.  
“It’s just a body, Apollo. Everyone has one, if you hadn’t heard.” Grantaire didn’t even try to smile this time, and he sounded just as weary as Enjolras felt.

Enjolras slowly began to fold each piece of laundry, considering each one and ignoring Grantaire’s comment. He eventually came to a black sweater and nudged it to the side, glancing at it every few moments. Grantaire was matching socks next to him, but after finishing a set, he plucked a navy blue sweater out of the pile and dropped it on the one Enjolras had pulled out. “That’s a better color,” Grantaire said, addressing his next pair of socks, folding the tops over each other.

Enjolras stopped for a moment. “Are we really going to debate which color we each would prefer?” he asked, frowning. There was nothing wrong with a healthy discussion, but he was too tired for something that trivial.

“No,” Grantaire said, giving a sad, small smile to a sock he set aside, unable to find a match in the pile immediately. “Prouvaire may disagree, but generally accepted fashion is to wear only one sweater at a time.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, slut, I must not have used your mouth enough earlier, if you can still talk.” Enjolras and Grantaire both froze, as their captor appeared in the doorway. Grantaire set down the socks he was holding in a deliberate, controlled way that suggested he was just this side of keeping his hands from shaking. “Jesus Christ,” their captor said again, marching into the room and fisting his hand into Grantaire’s curls, hauling him out of the room. Enjolras let out a shaky exhale when he heard the bedroom door slam shut. 

He stared between the two sweaters and finally pushed both behind the dryer.

He put the rest of the laundry into the basket and hesitated a moment before carrying it to the bedroom door. Enjolras tried not to listen, but when he heard Grantaire coughing and then whining in a loud but muffled panic, it was obvious what was happening on the other side. For a long moment he entertained the idea of bursting in and wrestling their captor off Grantaire, but the first and last time he tried that, their captor had whipped him with his belt until his back was a wet and sticky mess.

Grantaire had appeared later that afternoon, when their captor was busy in his home office, having somehow procured a bottle of ointment. “Please don’t,” Grantaire had said, uncharacteristically soft, before soothing the worst of Enjolras’s welts. He capped the bottle and shook his head. “Not for -” He shook his head again. “It’s not worth it, Apollo.” Before Enjolras could protest, Grantaire had vanished.

This time, Enjolras walked away from Grantaire’s rape, hating himself for letting another person suffer like that, but unwilling disregard Grantaire’s express wish.  
Unsure where would be a safe space to rest for a minute, Enjolras found himself staring vacantly at the front door. It looked so tempting – he could open and walk out to his freedom. Even though their captor was careful to keep the alarm engaged at all times, the door’s inviting appearance tormented Enjolras. The rain was falling harder, and he felt as if he were in an almost hypnotic trance.

He must’ve lost track of time in his exhaustion, because suddenly their captor was behind him and pinching viciously at one of the welts that ran along his shoulder. His knees buckled beneath him at the unexpected agony, and even more pain radiated up his knees from the impact. Their captor simply laughed.

“Thinking of trying to get to the police again, boy? Do I need to get the mitts back out?” Enjolras couldn’t help but shudder, though he repressed the frightened whimper. Their captor laughed and kicked him in the side. “That’s what I thought. Go cook dinner.”

Enjolras waited until the man walked away before getting up, unable to stop himself from wincing. He set about preparing their captor’s meal, realizing with a start how hungry he was. The pain from earlier in the day had been so intense he had forgotten about everything else.

When he was just about finished, bitterly serving up a single plateful, Grantaire appeared in the kitchen. “Master sent me to ask if dinner is ready,” he said quietly, staring at the ground.  
Enjolras opened his mouth, only to be stopped by another of those small shakes of Grantaire’s head. “Yes,” Enjolras managed through clenched teeth.

He waited in the kitchen a moment, collecting himself, wondering what kind of impact the plate would make if thrown like a frisbee. “Enjolras says dinner is ready, Master,” he heard Grantaire say, even more quietly than he had spoken to Enjolras. There was a moment of silence before Grantaire gave an anguished cry and hit to the ground.

“Is that what I told you to call him, slut?” their captor asked, calmly and evenly.

“No, Master,” gasped Grantaire as Enjolras stepped out of the kitchen. He was curled up their captor’s feet, clutching at his genitals.

Their captor took the plate from Enjolras’s hands with barely a glance, still focused on Grantaire. “That’s seriously where you draw the line, slut?” Around a bite of food, he commented, “That’s seriously fucked up.” Grantaire said nothing, though he was still breathing harshly on the ground.

Enjolras hovered nearby, jumping when the TV was turned on. He used to find the Weather Channel’s light jazz soothing when he studied or worked, but now it jangled his nerves, as it looped over and over. Their captor looked at him and smirked, before handing his empty plate back over. “You can put the leftovers in the fridge, boy.” 

Enjolras walked back into the kitchen, trying not to cry at the thought of another night without food. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead until the urge passed. When he finished loading the dishwasher, he walked nervously back out into the living room. 

Their captor had pulled Grantaire onto his lap and was petting his hair in a sick parody of a lover. Grantaire’s eyes were closed, but even from this distance, Enjolras could see the silent tears running down his face. “Something wrong, boy?” the man asked, moving his free hand to tweak one of Grantaire’s nipples, then the other. 

Grantaire was too far gone to remind Enjolras, but Enjolras still managed to shake his head. “That’s good, because there’s nothing wrong with naughty sluts getting punished, is there?” their captor remarked conversationally, punctuating his last words with one more tweak, before returning to carding a hand through Grantaire’s hair. 

Enjolras stood there, staring at the ground, wishing he could do something in that moment besides be utterly useless. Finally, after an eternity, he heard their captor whisper something in Grantaire’s ear, though he couldn’t make out the words. After a few seconds, Grantaire’s sobs became audible. Their captor sat with his eyes closed, smirking for a few minutes, before looking back at Enjolras for a moment, much too long for Enjolras’s comfort.

“Go clean my bathroom, boy,” he ordered, and Enjolras forced his feet to obey. The bathroom was fairly clean, and Enjolras was certain he had cleaned it a few days prior, but it was getting harder and harder to keep track of time. He tried not to think about Grantaire and went about his task. 

He had just finished wiping off the edge of the tub and was holding a handful of candles their captor insisted on keeping there, struggling to remember their exact previous arrangement, when a hand touched his shoulder. Enjolras started and dropped three of the candles, staring horrified as they fell to floor and shattered in what felt like slow motion.

There was absolute silence.

“Do you thinking breaking things is something good boys do, slut?” Enjolras closed his eyes and tried to stop himself from shivering. He wanted it all to stop so he could think clearly for just a few minutes.

There was a beat of silence before Grantaire whispered, “It was an accident, Master.” Enjolras wanted, viciously, for just a moment, to drop the rest of the candles in his hands.

“Put those down, boy, before you break any more.” Slowly, Enjolras set each remaining one down, slightly harder than necessary to hide the way his own hands were now shaking. When he was done, their captor snatched his wrist and hauled him out to the living room and to the patio door. Rain beat against it, and he watched with a detached dread as lines of water tracked down the glass.

He was released and left alone momentarily but felt glued to the spot. He flinched at a loud beep and again when the man returned and opened the door. A gust of cold wind blew into the room. 

“Out,” their captor ordered, but Enjolras remained in place, unable to will himself to walk out into the freezing rain in just a t-shirt and boxers. With a frustrated grunt, the man shoved him sharply between the shoulder blades, and Enjolras stumbled across the threshold. He gasped and bent over when the first splashes of the icy water hit him, and their captor used the moment to thrust a sock into his mouth, reaching around from behind.

Enjolras immediately went to pull it out, but the captor caught his sore arms easily and once again tied them behind his back. The return of that not yet forgotten pain overwhelmed Enjolras momentarily, which gave the man time to harshly slap a piece of duct tape of his mouth, pinning the sock into place.

He gave Enjolras one more shove, and then the door was shut behind him and the lock clicked back into place. Enjolras tried pushing against the door in protest, but all his broken and welted skin made the effort too excruciating to continue. He had only been outside for a minute or two, and already he felt very cold.

Looking around the yard, his eyes fell on the large tree in a corner of the yard, abutting the high fence. He stumbled over to it, barefoot in the wet grass, wobbling without the proper use of his hands, and tried to crouch beneath it. The tree wouldn’t have had many leaves anyway, given how late into fall it was, but it was seemed dead, and not even a single brown leaf clung to the branches. 

The tree was so close to the fence that the only way he could sit under it forced him to face the house. Their captor stood watching him, the smirk back in place, for several minutes. Finally, with a little wave, he turned and walked away, leaving Enjolras to his torment.

Enjolras closed his eyes and tried to simply will away the cold, which worked even less well than he had expected. He kept them closed and tried to picture various warm places, recalling Joly’s impromptu lecture at a recent meeting on the power of positive imagery. This worked far better than he had expected, though he realized what he mostly was picturing was Joly speaking. He tried to recall the meeting in as much detail as he could: the way Joly laughed every few sentences and smiled all the others, the way he looked over at Bossuet and Musichetta occasionally and received contented smiles in return, the way he had poked Grantaire playfully with the end of his cane at certain points.

Thinking about Grantaire drew him out of his reverie, and he realized the loud noise ringing in his ears was the chattering of his own teeth. He focused all his effort on clenching them shut, but it only increased the shivering of his body and worked for only a few seconds. He looked up and saw Grantaire kneeling by the door, watching with huge eyes, the dark circles easily visisble even at a distance.

They made eye contact and Enjolras forced himself to hold it as long possible, before his trembling became too violent. When he managed to look up again, Grantaire had moved to where their captor was sitting on the couch and knelt at his feet. Enjolras couldn’t see Grantaire’s face, but he could tell from the upward tilt of Grantaire’s head and the curve of his spine that he was pleading.

Their captor sat, expression immobile for what seemed like an agonizingly long before looking down his noise at Grantaire and saying something. Grantaire slumped, shoulders hunching forwards, though a moment later he forced himself back in the previous position, and their captor stood up. He dragged Grantaire back to the door by his hair and said something that made Grantaire color and look very determinedly at the ground. Prompted by another shake of his hair, Grantaire managed to nod, moving the man’s arm up and down with this motion.

Their captor released Grantaire and open the door, beckoning Enjolras like a dog. Enjolras struggled to his feet, off-balance with his hands still trapped behind him. When he tried to walk towards the door, he veered off at an angle, his legs shaking so violently that he couldn’t follow a straight line. Trying to walk back inside through the narrow gap their captor had opened felt like trying to thread a particularly small needle, and he bumped first one shoulder and then the other before managing to stumble through.

He was shaking so hard he thought he would simply fall down where he stood, but Grantaire appeared at his side, on his feet, and guided him to the bathroom, catching him whenever he came close to wandering into any obstacle in their path. Grantaire lowered him more carefully than he could’ve managed on his own to the bath mat and immediately began running the water as hot as it could go. 

Grantaire turned, fumbling with whatever was binding Enjolras’s hands. The rain had swollen the knots and the cold had made them stiff, and Grantaire let out a frustrated grunt when he couldn’t undo them. He opened the cabinet drawers, the items within clattering in a cacophony of sound as Grantaire frantically sorted through the contents. There was a rip of packaging and shortly after that, Grantaire was hacking through the ropes, using his other hand to hold Enjolras still. 

Once the bindings hit the bathroom floor, Grantaire began pulling on Enjolras’s sopping shirt up, but Enjolras let out a muffled gasp and felt faint when Grantaire encouraged him to lift his arms above his shoulders. His arms were immediately released, and one hand returned to steady him as the other used whatever Grantaire had previously found to cut through the fabric and pull it away.

Showing surprising energy for how starved and weak he was, Grantaire managed to lift Enjolras under one arm, pull off his soaked boxers, and gently deposit him into the partially filled bathtub in one smooth motion. 

Enjolras cried out, still muffled by the gag, as the hot water scalded him. Grantaire touched his face softly for a moment, before ripping off the duct tape in one quick pull. Enjolras jerked his head and tried to reach for the sock in his mouth, but his hands didn’t quite seem connected to his body, and he could only manage to bump them clumsily into his face. Grasping his lower jaw firmly, Grantaire held his mouth open and pulled the sock out for him, not letting go of Enjolras’s jaw until his hand was clear. Enjolras’s teeth immediately started chattering with even more violence than before.

Enjolras sunk into the water as far as he could as Grantaire stepped away, dropping everything he had accumulated so far into the trash. He made a soft, worried noise when he returned, and Enjolras looked down to see a small bloom of red blood drifting from his right arm, floating lazily through the water. “Sorry,” whispered Grantaire, voice cracking, as he glanced behind him at the razor blade on the counter, before reaching into the water to dab at the cut. 

Then his hands were gone and Enjolras could do nothing but sit and shiver. Once the water stopped rising, he heard the plug being pulled, though the tap kept running, ensuring the bath stayed as hot as possible. Every so often, he heard a splash, and once, when he managed to open his eyes, he saw Grantaire testing the still flowing water with his own hand. After several of these intervals, the water was turned off and Grantaire left.

After a worringly long absence, Grantaire returned holding several blankets in his arms. His face had been pink from the steam filling the room, but now it burned bright red and he seemed to no longer be able to look at Enjolras. 

Their captor appeared at the door behind him, leaning lazily against it, watching as Grantaire lifted Enjolras out of the bath and dried him off, before beginning to wrap the first blanket from the pile around his body, tucking it in so that Enjolras didn’t need to hold it closed himself. It felt even warmer than Enjolras had expected, as if Grantaire had been heating it in the dryer.  
“What do you think, slut? Will he live?” Grantaire froze, hands awkwardly hanging in the empty air, but Enjolras noticed his face spasm twice, as he mastered whatever expression was trying to break through. Grantaire finally moved, picking up the second blanket, but didn’t reply.

“I asked you a question, slut.” 

Grantaire’s face went through another series of spasms and he opened his mouth, though he closed it when his lips began to tremble and merely nodded. Their captor gave a snort as though he were particularly disgusted and walked away. When Grantaire wrapped the third blanket arounds Enjolras’s shoulders, there was a beep from the bedroom as the alarm was turned back on.

Enjolras shook Grantaire off and stared at him, finding it easier to think again. “The alarm was off this whole time?” he whispered, focusing on making his mouth form the right shapes.  
Grantaire tilted his head for a moment as if he hadn’t even considered it, before nodding.

“Then why didn’t you leave?” Enjolras hissed, somehow feeling colder than before, now that he knew there had been such a perfect chance and it had been wasted.

“Just because you decided to cast yourself as Leander today doesn’t mean I wanted to play Hero.” Grantaire wrestled the final blanket from his pile around Enjolras’s waist. Enjolras sighed in exasperation, wishing he could gesture with his arms instead of having them pinned to his sides. 

“That seems an overly dramatic comparison. You could’ve some place to hide until the storm passed.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, even as he picked him up and carried him to the closet, “we don’t even know where we are. If no one has found us by now, it means we are probably a long way from home. How would I even have known where to go?” 

“We can’t you know until we try!” 

Grantaire didn’t respond as he sat down at the lip of the crawlspace. He stared up at Enjolras in silence for a long moment before tugging an errant piece of still-warm blanket. “One can be plausibly called an accident, two looks like it was on purpose, Apollo.” He lowered himself down before reaching up to help Enjolras.

Enjolras awkwardly shuffled across the floor until he reached the threadbare quilt their captor had given them for sleeping. It would’ve been just large enough for him to lie side-by-side with Grantaire, but every night, without fail, Grantaire chose to sleep alone in the far corner. Enjolras curled up on the quilt, leaving space for Grantaire to join him if he wished, as Enjolras did every night. 

A shadow fell across the open entrance where Grantaire was still kneeling. Enjolras couldn’t see their captor, but he watched Grantaire look up for a long moment and then turn his head away, his shoulders drooping in the same way they had earlier. A moment later the light was gone as the cover was dropped into place, and there was a heavy dragging above them as the man weighted it down.

Gloom settled over the crawlspace and, before Enjolras’s eyes could even adjust, Grantaire was next to him and tucking the edges of the quilt around him. Enjolras still felt chilled, but the uncontrollable trembling had stopped and he no longer felt as if he was destined to be cold forever. He opened his mouth, wishing he had Courf there to give him advice on what to say, but before he could conjure any words of his own, Grantaire had already left for his own corner, turning his back to Enjolras.

Enjolras didn’t fall asleep right away, but eventually he dozed off as he warmed up inside his blanket cocoon. He drifted awake later, coming out of a confused twilight sleep. It was still very dark in the crawlspace. Off to his side, Grantaire lay in a fetal position, watching him over his knees. Enjolras looked back, still at a loss for what to say. Grantaire closed his eyes and they lay in silence for long minutes.

“Isn’t it funny how different people see different things in the stars?” Grantaire finally said, which was certainly not what Enjolras was expecting. “One person’s dipper is another person’s bear. If I were Odysseus, I would’ve told Calypso a little bit clearer directions would be nice.” He shrugged. “But I guess it works when the weather is clear, so who am I to judge?”  
Enjolras blinked rapidly, wondering if he was still asleep. “Is there a particular reason we’re discussing celestial navigation right now?”

“The Pythia didn’t always tell you things in a very clear manner. I imagine that must’ve been very frustrating. You want a clear answer, and all you get are riddles.”

“Then why are you talking in riddles?” Enjolras asked, exasperated. 

Grantaire gave the same sad smile as earlier. “I’d hardly call it a riddle, Apollo,” he said, before turning over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Wikipedia for giving me a PhD in Classics to go with my medical degree from Dr. Google. I think the only exposure I had to mythology was in 7th grade, and that was incredibly surface level, so I did my best and think they mostly make sense. (Also, Grantaire has no time to let your traditional gender roles slow down his Apollo-related references.) If you're someone who actually knows something about these things and think it doesn't work, please let me know. The last thing I want to do is drag Grantaire down with my own ignorance.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I originally thought this flashback would take one chapter, but it's slowly morphed into three. Oops.
> 
> ***Trigger warning for reference to suicide***

Enjolras wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the crawlspace opened. He didn’t think he had been awake the whole time after talking with Grantaire, but he also didn’t feel like he’d gotten any meaningful rest either. 

Two granola bars and a bottle of water were dropped down to them, followed by a new set of clothes for Enjolras. Grantaire collected everything, brought Enjolras the water and one of the bars, before scooting off to his usual corner with the other. Enjolras folded his blankets back into a pile, knowing there was no way their captor would allow them to stay. 

He opened the granola bar and forced himself to break it in half and put one of the pieces under the quilt before he could fully think about it. He felt even hungrier than usual, probably from his body’s involuntary exertion the day before, so he took tiny bites of the remaining half and tried to savor them as much as possible.

When he was finished, much too quickly, Enjolras picked up the water bottle, surprised to find it full. Normally Grantaire drank his share, or what Enjolras suspected was often a little bit less than his share, before retreating to eat. Just when he was about to protest, Grantaire had already returned and pressed the bottle back into his hands. “You’ll need it, Apollo,” Grantaire said very quietly. Enjolras frowned at Grantaire’s use of the future tense but started to drink anyway. He meant to stop after drinking half, but Grantaire had already crawled away with all but one of the blankets.

Their captor must have been waiting for them, as Grantaire tossed up the blankets and then clambered out after them as soon as he reached the shaft of light. Left with no other option, Enjolras finished the water himself. He stayed on the quilt for as long as he dared, counting the pieces of granola bar under the fabric by feel. When the man snapped, “Hurry up, boy,” Enjolras forced himself to move.

He stood up dumbly at the entrance, realizing he still couldn’t lift his arms above his shoulders. Their captor gave a sigh as though exasperated, but he had the now familiar smirk back in place when he returned shortly with Grantaire in tow. Enjolras was surprised when Grantaire gave him a long considering look before reaching down to grasp him under the arms and lift him most of the way out, but the man seemed to take no notice.

Enjolras was again surprised when Grantaire kept his hands on him for a moment more than strictly necessary. He had begun to have his suspicions before this…ordeal…began that Grantaire’s feelings towards him weren’t strictly platonic, but the other man always treated him respectfully and never did anything pushy to make Enjolras feel uncomfortable, so he hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time considering it, caught up in so many other things. Even if Enjolras’s guess was correct, it seemed strange that Grantaire was finally doing something about it on this arbitrary day, however subtle those actions were. 

Or maybe Enjolras’s mind was still muddled from his experience the day before and he was over-analyzing an emotional situation in which he was already wrong-footed. Either way, it didn’t seem to matter, as Grantaire left quickly, without saying or doing anything else. Their captor grabbed Enjolras by the arm again, yanking harder than necessary, and pulled him into the kitchen, leaving without saying a word. Somehow this was even worse than when Enjolras was ordered about – being silently moved around and left to obey unspoken expectations gave him nothing to actively rebel against, even if only in his head, and left him irritable and frustrated.

Looking at the clock, Enjolras began preparing something suitable for lunch. It was tempting to steal an extra slice of deli meat for himself, but the guilt at taking advantage of an opportunity not afforded to Grantaire was too much to overcome. Enjolras carried the plate into the living room and looked out at the yard for a few minutes, still chafing at the idea of producing meals on demand for their captor. Even though no rain fell, the gray sky gave Enjolras a prickly sensation down his spine and he dragged himself away and down to their captor’s office.

The door was opened and he entered, feeling his stomach twist when he didn’t see Grantaire anywhere. He wasn’t entirely sure what Grantaire did all day, but unless he had been dismissed and gone to find Enjolras, he generally seemed to be kept at their captor’s side. The man took the proffered plate from Enjolras without looking, still focused on whatever was on his computer.

Enjolras drifted away to stand out of arm’s reach, trying to count the fibers of the carpet in an effort to block out the sounds of chewing. When he heard the washer beep from the laundry room, he mechanically began to walk out, recalling even as he did so that he hadn’t started any wash that morning.

Their captor laughed and pushed his chair away from the desk, and Enjolras turned just in time to see Grantaire emerging from underneath it. He refused to look at Enjolras at all as he hurried out of the room, so different from earlier. Enjolras could tell their captor was watching him and finally forced himself to return the gaze with as defiant a look as he could muster. The man just snorted. “That little slut could really teach you a few lessons,” he said, with a leer that seemed to suggest he was talking about more than just obeying orders. 

Before Enjolras could formulate an adequate response through the haze of hunger and pain, Grantaire returned, wringing his hands and looking poised to bolt at any second.

“Well?” 

“Master, I – I left one of the blankets in the crawlspace.” Grantaire swallowed audibly.“I just noticed.” 

“And what have we said is the rule about going back there during the day?” the man asked, as if he talking to a very naughty child.

“It’s – it’s not allowed.” Grantaire shifted back and forth. 

“Well, not any more at least,” their captor said, rocking his chair from side to side. “Not after the time you tried to hide from me.”

Grantaire whimpered. “But leaving anything down there isn’t allowed either.”

Enjolras couldn’t decide if he wanted to scream or repeatedly bash his own head against the wall as he listened to Grantaire.

The man smiled briefly, triumphant, before turning back to his work and beginning to type. “I’ll guess you’ll just have to decide which punishment you’d prefer.” The typing paused. “But remember, if I were to find an extra blanket down there, I might not be able to remember whose fault it is.” Grantaire shuddered and left the room, no doubt to go retrieve the errant blanket.  
Enjolras frowned, staring at the floor. He had organized the blankets into one pile, and Grantaire had very deliberately left one behind. Even if he somehow hadn’t been able to see it in the gloom, he certainly would’ve felt it. Enjolras had assumed Grantaire wanted to hide it as long as they could manage. Was he really so far gone that the guilt of disobeying would crack him in less than an hour?

Enjolras collected their captor’s empty plate and returned to the kitchen. He took the list of chores the man had written up and tacked to the fridge with a magnet advertising stump removal. He thought the cartoon stump that grinned out at him looked far too excited about its grim fate.

He looked over the list and was relieved to see only basic cleaning tasks on it. While the chill from yesterday had passed, he still felt weak and tired. He didn’t see Grantaire for the rest of the day, but it didn’t stop him from pondering the question of the blanket. He tried to think of all the different ways he could ask Grantaire about it later, hoping to settle on one that the other man couldn’t just evade with his usual non-sequitur or pun. Given Grantaire’s ability to deflect just about anything, Enjolras was still without a strategy come the evening, when he returned to the kitchen to make dinner.

He started unloading the dishwasher as he waited for water to boil, lining up the clean mugs on the counter when he found it still too painful to reach up to the cabinet they were kept in. Grantaire appeared again, as silent and sudden as usual, and Enjolras bobbled the mug in his hands, managing to catch it by the handle. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Grantaire remained uncharacteristically quiet and when Enjolras turned to look, he found the other man gazing directly at him, not at the floor as he had come to expect. The only word Enjolras could think of to describe it was desperate. He stood, unsure of what Grantaire wanted. Finally, Grantaire slowly extended his hand. Enjolras had just started to reach his own out in return, when Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut and used that outstretched hand to knock one of the mugs on the counter out of the line and onto the floor.

Enjolras jumped at the crash and then stared at Grantaire, who still had his eyes closed and was starting to shake. There was a pause before their captor came thundering in, shouldering Grantaire out of the way to seize Enjolras by the front of his shirt. “Why is it so fucking difficult for you not to break my shit?” he asked, punctuating each word with a violent shake.  
Before Enjolras could recover from the assault enough to speak, Grantaire spoke up, now on his knees.

“Please, Master, please, it was my fault. I scared him. Please don’t punish Enjolras.” Their captor looked between them, eyes blazing, before dropping Enjolras and seizing Grantaire by his hair. Enjolras followed, even more concerned about Grantaire’s mental state now and also concerned about what was going to happen to him as punishment.

Their captor was standing at the patio door, staring out at the glowing sunset, as if he could will it to rain like the day before. He released Grantaire and stomped away. When the alarm beeped off, Grantaire made eye contact with Enjolras, tired but alert. A second later, the man was back, and the look was gone. Their captor paused, staring at his phone as he unlocked the door. “I guess you should feel lucky it’s not raining, but I’m sure this temperature won’t be very nice on its own either.”

He opened the door and pushed Grantaire out, even though Grantaire began to go willingly. Enjolras watched as Grantaire sank back to his knees in the middle of the yard, looking utterly bereft. He flinched in surprise when their captor spoke. “Bring me dinner, and then I want you to sit in here and watch him suffer for you. He can come back in whenever you ask, as long as you do it properly.”

Enjolras followed the first order exactly as he was bidden, but instead of returning to the living room, he crept into the closet. He hesitated, realizing if he tried to go down to get his food cache, he would be stuck. To his great surprise, he found the blanket Grantaire had “forgotten” and then “retrieved” earlier rolled up at the edge of the crawlspace. Enjolras unrolled it to find a pile of granola bar pieces inside.

He bent down to tie the blanket into a bundle but paused when he noticed a whole granola bar. Hand shaking, he quickly counted the individual pieces and realized there were more, a lot more, maybe even close to double, than what had been under the quilt. Their captor had not been feeding them their daily granola bars for twice as long as Enjolras had been caching food. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed. It suddenly made sense why Grantaire chose to eat separately – because it appeared on most days he hadn’t been eating at all.

Enjolras stood up with the now-tied bundle, pushing down his tears until later. Walking as quiet as he could manage to the laundry room, he shoved his arm behind the dryer and blindly groped for the sweaters he had hidden. When he felt fabric and pulled, he found himself holding the navy blue sweater Grantaire had picked, but instead of the black sweater, there was now a pair of sweatpants and a pair of socks. It took several deep breaths for him to be calm again.

He put them on and crept back out to the living room. It was hard to see out into the gathering dusk, but it looked like Grantaire had curled up into a fetal position, facing away from the door. Enjolras paused, feeling like he should at least unlock the door for Grantaire, but stopped. He didn’t know how long it would take to find help, and it seemed like their captor would go easier on Grantaire if he thought he had been coldly abandoned by Enjolras, instead of being complicit in the escape.

Hugging the blanket to his chest, Enjolras forced his feet into a pair of boots by the front door and then stepped out into the dark, shutting the door as quietly as he could. He glanced around, and saw he was in a small subdivision. The surrounding houses were dark and everything felt very still. 

Enjolras walked as quickly as he could manage, cutting through yards, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up as house after house stood empty and unoccupied. He briefly considered attempting to break into one and hiding, but he couldn’t think of a way to do it without leaving a mess behind. At that thought, he considered breaking a window somewhere and then immediately leaving, trying to create a false trail, but it felt as if the related noise would be easily heard by the man.

Enjolras kept walking, getting more and more on edge, still seeing no other sign of human life. After about five minutes, he reached a large lake, fronted by an expansive beach, complete with a playground, picnic tables, and a lifeguard stand.

This town, wherever it was, must be a seasonal retreat, closed at the onset of fall and left until the next summer. Enjolras took deep, even breaths, trying to consider his options. He darted over to the lifeguard stand and awkwardly climbed up, feeling less exposed than on the open beach.

He assumed their captor must have some sort of income, but he appeared to do it all his work from the house, so it didn’t seem as if he’d have an employer nearby. The few times he did leave were to run errands. The man brought back groceries after most of those trips, some of which were quite short, so there must be some sort of store nearby. If it wasn’t open now, Enjolras thought he could find somewhere to hide until the morning.

Sliding down from the stand, he began walking again, away from the houses and hoped it was the right direction. He felt nervous staying on the road, but it seemed like the easiest to find a business. All his nerves tingled as he listened for a car, or even footsteps. After another few minutes, Enjolras found himself on a quaint main street, with a few kitschy shops and restaurants. He walked down the sidewalk, trying to stay in the shadows, towards a large building at the end.

Looking around, he darted out from cover to read the sign in the window. Enjolras wasn’t quite certain what time it was, but the sun couldn’t have set more than an hour ago. The only day the store closed before 9 PM was Saturday. They were closed on Sundays.

Enjolras wished that screaming wouldn’t be so ill-advised at the moment. He forced himself to walk around behind the store and crawl behind a dumpster. He untied the blanket and took out the lone whole granola bar. Despite all his arguments about why escaping would not work, Grantaire had gone to an awful lot of trouble to give Enjolras the opportunity to do so. Giving up so soon was hardly the way to honor those sacrifices.

Enjolras jumped when he realized how bright it was, but relaxed when he saw it was just the stars coming out from behind the clouds. He remembered Grantaire’s conversation the previous night, though it felt like a lifetime ago. He looked around until he found the Big Dipper and then let his eyes travel to the North Star. He felt like Combeferre had done this with him a long time ago, maybe when they were children, but Enjolras had a feeling it wouldn’t have occurred to him in his state unless Grantaire had reminded him.

He paused and grabbed another piece of granola bar, wondering how he should ration the food, but wanting to be more focused for the upcoming decision of which way to go. After a few minutes, he felt the additional rush of sugar and a clarity he had missed. He tried to recall Grantaire’s exact words, knowing the man probably could’ve hidden exact GPS coordinates in some sort of obscure reference if needed to. 

Enjolras couldn’t remember the exact directions Calypso gave in myth, but he felt fairly certain they pointed to the east. It didn’t seem like Grantaire to make a clear allusion if he didn’t mean for Enjolras to follow it. Enjolras wasn’t sure what Classical heroes had traveled in any of the other three cardinal directions, but he was also sure Grantaire did. Grantaire was forced to spend most of his waking hours with their captor, and there must be some concrete reason he thought the best way to go was east. 

Tying the blanket back up, Enjolras listened for a moment and then crawled out. Looking up one last time, he faced the North Star and then turned right and resumed walking. The roads still seemed the faster route, and he vowed to stop and find a place to hide when he could no longer trust himself to listen carefully enough for cars, whether his captor’s or a potential rescuer’s.  
Time didn’t seem to pass at all as he walked, seeing no one. When he began to tire, which happened much faster than he had hoped, he began counting his steps, starting over each time he reached 100. When counting that high became a challenge, he began listing the Amis in alphabetical order, one person per step.

When he could only think of Grantaire’s name, he realized it was time to stop. The road was still surrounded on both sides by heavy woods, and he walked into them, making an inordinate amount of noise as he crashed through them in the dark. How far would he need to go to be concealed from the road?

Bahorel often spent his weekends taking troubled teens into nature on hiking and backpacking trips, and he usually had at least one or two hilarious stories of the kids afterwards. Enjolras tried to remember all the ones involving Leave No Trace principles, and 200 feet came to my mind. Trying to convert that into paces was more than Enjolras could do at that moment, so he settled for 100, knowing that was far more than necessary. 

There didn’t seem to be any one spot better than the others, so Enjolras pushed a giant pile of leaves out of the way, laid down, and then shuffled them back on top of his body, until he could no longer see anything. He lay there, silently, listening to the crickets sing.

He woke up to the sound of birds singing, not even having realized he had fallen asleep. He laid still but heard nothing but the sounds of nature. He sat up, brushing leaves off himself, and ate what he estimated to be a whole granola bar. He re-tied the blanket and stood up, turning to walk back to the road. Traveling in daylight didn’t seem like the best idea, but the thought of doing nothing for around 10 hours, especially while Grantaire remained behind, seemed equally bad.

Enjolras made it less than three steps before he was snatched by his collar from behind. He had never felt a shot of adrenaline like that before and immediately began twisting and squirming as hard as he could. Just when managed to get free, a blow to the kidney knocked him to the ground winded, and he was swiftly pinned into the leaf litter.  
He felt hot breath on his neck and managed to twist his head to the side. He came face-to-face with his captor. 

Enjolras vomited, choking when he couldn’t lift his head all the way. It didn’t seem real – he was certain he hadn’t been followed and while he likely hadn’t covered that much ground, the chance of the man finding his exact hiding place seemed too perfect to be a coincidence.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” the man asked and slammed Enjolras’s head viciously against the ground. Enjolras felt dazed and was unable to fight back as he was lifted bodily from the ground and carried back to the road. By the time his vision was cleared, he had already been dropped into the open trunk of a car. He made an attempt to get up, only to receive another blow to the head, though it was softened by the awkward angle.

Nevertheless, it was enough to keep him pliant while the man bound his wrists and ankles in duct tape. Almost as an afterthought, a final piece was ripped off the roll and placed over his mouth. The lid was slammed shut, and the car began moving. Tied as he was, Enjolras couldn’t reach the emergency release handle, glowing tauntingly at him in the dark.  
Shuffling the other way, he managed to get a shoulder against the backseat and shoved it down. He squirmed forward, trying to reach the door handle without looking, when he heard the man swear and was jostled by a sudden swerve of the car.

“Nice try, but the child locks are on,” he said through gritted teeth.

Enjolras tried one last time to push himself up, hoping to get high enough to reach the window and try to wave down help, but the angle of the bent backseat was too awkward. He slumped down and slid back into the trunk. His hands bumped against the blanket that his captor must’ve picked up and carried to the car as well.

He worried at the fabric, wondering how crushed Grantaire would be. His friend had been right – escape was hopeless, but he had believed Enjolras could do it anyway, somehow. He thought about the sudden and tentative contact Grantaire had initiated and what it must’ve taken for him to not only watch Enjolras leave, but to orchestrate it. Enjolras wondered if a hug would be a good start to an apology and wished again for Courfeyrac.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually the car stopped and was turned off. The trunk popped opened, and his captor dragged Enjolras out and over his shoulder. As the man turned to walk into the house, Enjolras saw it was not the one he had escape from, but the one next to it. 

His captor unlocked the front door and carried Enjolras inside. “These people like to come up winter weekends and ice fish. I house sit for them in exchange for stealing their Internet,” the man explained, no doubt wanting Enjolras to be sure no one would be coming there for quite some time. The layout seemed the same as the other house, just flipped on its axis.  
Enjolras was dropped harshly at the lid to what must be the crawlspace, though his captor did lower him far enough down that actual shaft that the subsequent fall hurt but did no real damage. Enjolras looked up, squirming against the tape. His captor watched him and smiled a horrible, cruel smile.

“In case you were wondering, you made it 10 miles last night. If you had kept going that way, the closest town with anybody home would’ve been another 50 miles. Someone obviously clued you in on what way to go, though, since there’s not much else in any other direction.” Enjolras looked away, wondering what was happening to Grantaire.

The man above him laughed. “Oh, Enjolras, he was so happy when I ‘discovered’ you were gone. For someone who seems to spend all his time thinking of ways to make me let him go to you, he was shockingly cheerful not to have you around at all.” There was a pregnant pause.

“Let’s assume our little Grantaire knows how fast you were going. He should be expecting you back with help in what, five more days? How long do you think his mind will last after that, with no sign from you? A week? A month? Maybe just a day? Who knows!”

The man stroked an imaginary beard. “And what do you think he will do when he realizes you’re not coming back? That you decided he really was that worthless after all and abandoned him?” Enjolras couldn’t help but shudder. “Or,” another long pause, “I wonder what would happen if he thought you were dead.”

Enjolras tried to speak but couldn’t around the tape. The man continued, relentless, “He begged so prettily to save you that night in the rain. He was so scared if you stayed out there too long that he wouldn’t be able to save you. I mean, did you see how upset he was afterwards when I suggested it could’ve happened, if I had wanted to?”

Enjolras remembered Grantaire’s face as he bathed him. He hadn’t understood at the time, too cold to think clearly, but now he did. He felt cold all over again, considering what might happen.

A small pair of scissors was suddenly dropped on his face, startling him out of his thoughts. “Getting that tape off should keep you busy for awhile, I suppose. And I would hardly want you to get bored down there alone. I thought you’d appreciate some reading material.” A book dropped down next, bouncing to rest half in and out of the light. The title was obscured, but Enjolras saw the subtitle: Surviving the Suicide of a Loved One. He felt faint. The blanket bundle followed, covering the book. “Wouldn’t want you to get hungry either. I hope you have enough there. Grantaire might surprise us with how resilient he is.”

Enjolras flopped onto the floor, tears starting to fall as the cover was dragged back into place. Just before it dropped completely closed, the man pulled it back slightly.

“Most people would’ve tried wearing black at night. I’m sure you thought it was very clever wearing navy instead.” That awful smile came back. “It’s too bad you didn’t notice the GPS locator in it.”

With that final statement, the cover was settled in place and covered with something heavy, and Enjolras was left alone to the gloom and his own sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I based the location in this chapter on the towns in northern Michigan, where almost everyone has a cottage, but virtually no one lives in year-round. It seems like the American!Amis always live in New York, and I'm guessing there's probably similar places in New York state. 
> 
> I also looked up GPS locators and found some references to stores putting small ones in clothes to help track shoplifters. I couldn't find any reference to their size or appearance. I figure if serial shoplifters didn't notice them, Enjolras wouldn't either. Hopefully I didn't take too much creative license here.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I remember when I thought this flashback would be over in one chapter. I wanted to get this little detour wrapped up, I promise we will jump back to the present in the next chapter!
> 
> ***Trigger warning for suicide attempt and some descriptions of blood***

Enjolras wasn’t sure how long he cried for; the frustration of having gotten so far and accomplished nothing was overwhelming, as was the terror of what was currently going on in Grantaire’s head. 

When the tears finally stopped, more out of exhaustion than any true emotional release, Enjolras lay silently in the gloom for some time, watching as the crawlspace eventually dimmed further with the onset of night. The thought of doing anything else seemed impossible.

Finally, the discomfort of his bonds outweighed his crushing sense of defeat, and Enjolras groped around until he found the scissors the man had dropped. They were just a small pair of bathroom scissors, and each cut they made barely caused any damage to the tape. Enjolras had to twist his hands into an unnatural position, and he kept having to pause to rest.

At long last, he cut the last of the tape away from his wrists and then ripped the tape from his mouth. He lay back down, resting for a few minutes and taking full, deep breaths again, before sitting back up to start on his ankles. Even now that he could hold the scissors normally, there was so many layers of tape and the scissors had been blunted by so much heavy use that it still took a long time to finish freeing himself.

Enjolras felt a short burst of relief and accomplishment when he could finally move normally, but it faded quickly when he realized he was still trapped in the crawlspace. He stood up under the entrance and looked up at it. His arms were now even more tender, so there was no hope of getting them up to even try lifting the lid. He momentarily considered trying to bash it with his head, but he didn’t even need Combeferre to tell him that such a rash action would only result in a concussion.

He looked down at the tattered tape. He had practically shredded it when he cut it off, and the only truly intact piece was the one that had been over his mouth. The tape had lost so much of its adhesion that it didn’t seem like he could use it again, but he still put it in a neat pile to the side, just in case he thought of something later. 

The scissors seemed much more promising. While they had been rendered almost useless for cutting, they could be used effectively to stab. They were small enough that it most likely wouldn’t cause a deep enough wound to be life-threatening, but it would certainly hurt. Enjolras put them into the pocket of his sweatpants, hoping his captor might forget about them if they were out of sight.

He picked up the blanket next, intending to inventory his remaining food supplies and figure out some sort of rationing system, when he saw the book underneath it. It was now too dark to read any of the words, but he still had to repress the urge to vomit again. Would Grantaire really attempt suicide if he thought Enjolras had abandoned him or was dead?

Enjolras sat down, too dizzy to keep standing. He tried to think back more carefully on everything Grantaire had said and done over the past few days. He remembered that desperate, final look in the kitchen, the way Grantaire had reached out as if he to clasp his hand, before setting everything into motion. Enjolras buried his head in his knees. With the power of hindsight, it seemed almost shockingly obvious: Grantaire thought it was the last time he would see Enjolras.

Enjolras probably would’ve cried again if there had been any tears left.

Did Grantaire really think so little of Enjolras that he would leave the other behind to continued torment and rape? But then Enjolras considered what the man had said after imprisoning him once again. It seemed that Grantaire believed it was goodbye because he thought so little of himself. What would Grantaire do if he thought no help was coming but that Enjolras lived? Continue to submit until he withered away?

Enjolras looked back at the dark shape of the book and forced himself to once again replay the man’s awful words. The idea of Enjolras of being dead, rather simply being gone, would obviously be more distressing for Grantaire. But was the whole thing just a mind game, meant to break Enjolras? Would Grantaire really attempt suicide if he thought Enjolras was dead?  
He hurled the book across the crawlspace, unable to bear the thought of Grantaire taking his own life.

There had to be something he could to show Grantaire he was alive. He looked around until he found the small window he expected. The one in his normal crawlspace, and oh how he hated thinking of it as “normal,” had a large pile of firewood stacked in front of it, blocking him and Grantaire from view but still letting in a small amount of light.

He crawled over to this window and found it covered by a piece of plywood, set an angle so some light to leak in around it. Enjolras slammed his hands against the window, but the plywood didn’t budge. It must be leaning high enough up against the house that any action taken against the window didn’t affect it. He slumped down, the defeat creeping back in. It seemed like there would be no possible way to signal Grantaire that he was right next door.

Enjolras felt the scissors in his pocket. How long until the man came back? Even then the scissors would be useless unless he was removed from the crawlspace. 

He crawled back over to sit under the entrance, running the pieces of tape through his fingers over and over as he thought. Everything the man said was horrible, but like any good lie, there was a kernel of truth to the whole thing. He remembered the nauseating comment about Grantaire teaching Enjolras how to behave. Grantaire seemed to generally submit to everything the man ordered him to do, but that allowed him to defy their captor behind his back. 

The thought of bowing to his captor’s wishes made Enjolras’s skin crawl, but couldn’t he make himself do it for just long enough if it meant Grantaire would know he was alive? It almost physically hurt to think of giving up on his beliefs, however temporarily, but what did his beliefs really matter if his stubbornness and pride led to Grantaire’s death? It had been frustrating to see his friend so passive, but such a reaction certainly didn’t merit death.

Enjolras resolved himself. He would make himself beg, just the once, just enough to be lifted out the crawlspace. He would stab his captor and make a run for the other house and find Grantaire.

A whole day passed with no sign of his captor. Enjolras had taken the food from the blanket and curled up in it, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. Every noise of the house settling made him jump, wondering if it was the man coming back.

Eventually, Enjolras jerked from sleep, hearing the front door open. He listened as hard as he could, but it was clear the man was alone. There was pause, and then the weight from the cover was removed and the crawlspace opened. Enjolras shut his eyes against the sudden bright light.

“Catch,” the man said, dropping a case of water bottles onto Enjolras. It hit him in the chest and knocked him to the ground. When he finally pushed it off him, he sat back up and found his captor watching him lazily.

He felt unsettled, unsure how to proceed. It had sounded easy in theory to simply submit like Grantaire had, but now Enjolras realized with a surge of shame how much cleverness and forethought it took to manipulate a situation to his advantage in this way. He forced himself to kneel and bow his head, afraid to speak first.

The silence settled around them and Enjolras shifted, uneasy. He heard the man sit down and then felt a rush of air next to either side of his head, as he began to lazily swing his legs back and forth. One of them clipped Enjolras’s ear. “Keep your head down, boy,” his captor ordered. Enjolras obeyed, clenching his hands until his fingernails dug into his palms.

The man snorted and then returned to his silent observation. Enjolras ran through every bit of speech he had prepared in his head, but all of it seemed like it would be horribly transparent if spoken first. He bit his lip to keep silent.

After what seemed like an eternity, the man finally spoke. “I had to lock up all the knives this morning.” Enjolras went very still. His captor laughed. “No, don’t worry, poor little Grantaire wasn’t trying to kill himself. Yet.” He emphasized the word with another clip to Enjolras’s head. 

“No, he was just trying to hurt himself. It seems the idea of being potentially unworthy of rescue is driving him even more insane than I thought. I’m surprised he helped you as much as he did. You’ve been gone – sorry, ‘gone’ for 48 hours, and he’s already cracking.” Enjolras tried to look up, out of habit, but another kick to the head, harder this time, kept him down.  
Enjolras worked his mouth, trying to find the words, frightened that they had escaped him. Normally high pressure situations, like giving a speech to a crowd or directing a negotiation, only heightened his natural speaking ability, and he felt empty to find it gone.

“How many more days will it take, do you think, before he gives up? I know I’m almost ready to revise my own estimate.” Enjolras was bumped again. 

“Please don’t,” Enjolras said, not even realizing at first it was him speaking. “Please let me see him.”

“Hmm. Why should I? He’s really very nice like this. I know you hated how little he fought before, but now he’s letting me do all sorts of things to him without so much as a peep.” Another bump. “No, I don’t think you should see him. You’d probably just be terribly disappointed in him.”

“I don’t want him to die,” Enjolras whispered, releasing one hand to brush the blanket Grantaire had gone through so much to make sure he had, even as he believed it would lead to Enjolras’s permanent departure. It was little wonder Grantaire was losing his grip. “I promise I’ll do whatever you want.”

With a suddenness that surprised Enjolras as much as the pain, his captor kicked him full in the face, catching him in the center of the forehead. Enjolras fell back with a cry, clutching at the point of impact.

“How much of a fool do you take me for, boy? You really thought I’d believe 24 hours alone with your own thoughts was enough to break you? I’d would’ve done this a long time ago if I thought it would cure your attitude.” By the time Enjolras could bear the pain enough to look up, the crawlspace cover was dropping into place.

“No! You have to let me out!” Enjolras cried, wishing he again that he could batter at the door.

“Boy, I don’t have do anything.” His captor’s voice was muffled as the weight was dragged back into place. “I’ll be back when I think you might be ready to actually obey.”

Enjolras kicked the case of water as he heard the front door close distantly, falling back to his knees when the tears of frustration returned. He had never felt so impotent in his whole life.  
Before his tears had even finished this time, he heard the front door slam back open. Why was the man back so soon? It hadn’t seemed like he was bluffing earlier. When the crawlspace was opened a few seconds later, Enjolras was well and truly scared.

Enjolras could see how pale his captor was as he reached down and yanked Enjolras out. Not bothering to close the crawlspace or even shut the front door, he pulled Enjolras by his shirt front across the yards so fast that Enjolras stumbled repeatedly, unable to see in the dark.

The world seemed to freeze as he was dragged into his captor’s bathroom.

Lying a tub full of pink water was Grantaire, eyes closed and very pale. Feeling like everything was in slow motion, Enjolras’s eyes fell on the razor blade on the edge of the tub. Bits of fiber still clung to the blade. Grantaire must’ve hidden it while Enjolras was recovering from the cold, too out of it to notice.

With a sudden shock, the world seemed to snap back into focus. Enjolras tried to breathe calmly and remember the first aid lessons Joly and Combeferre had given the Amis, everyone wanting to be prepared if something ever went wrong. The pair of doctors certainly hadn’t covered attempted suicide in the list of things that could happen at a protest, but they had talked extensively about bleeding. It had made Enjolras feel a bit woozy, but he had taken copious notes, nonetheless.

“Call 911,” he said automatically, as he bent to lift Grantaire out of the tub.

It took several tries to get Grantaire out, slippery with both water and his own blood, but Enjolras finally got him onto the bath mat. He ripped down the towel hanging next to him and pushed it down to both of Grantaire’s arms, shaking with the effort. Joly and Combeferre had insisted they practice this part on themselves, coaching on them until everyone had gotten the hang of pushing down much harder than came naturally. 

Blood began to seep through the fabric. How much had Grantaire already lost? It was impossible to tell as it mixed with the water.

Enjolras turned, finding the man simply standing in the door, watching, looking a little light-headed himself. “He needs an ambulance,” Enjolras shouted. The man didn’t move. “You might as well be murdering him if you do nothing!”

The man laughed, though much of his usual bravado and poise was gone. “I didn’t do any of this, boy. If you don’t fix your mistakes, you’ll never learn from them.”

Enjolras looked down at the now blood-soaked towel for a split second, and then lunged for the man’s pocket, trying to grab his phone out of his pocket. His hands were so slippery that he couldn’t get a grip and the man stepped back, slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside. 

Unlocking it and chasing his captor would take too much time. Enjolras grabbed the second towel from the rack and pressed back down. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling Grantaire’s pulse or his own. Time seemed to pass very slowly but very quickly at the same time. When that towel became wet, Enjolras quickly stripped off his sweater and added it to the top. The sweater remained dry.

Enjolras kept applying pressure for several long minutes. This was as much as he had been taught, with the thought that it would be enough until medical professionals arrived to take over. He probably should remove the compresses and clean the wounds, but he was afraid that taking the base layer off would break the clots that seemed to have formed. He could hardly keep Grantaire like this forever, though, so he removed the sweater and top towel and began slowly removing the bottom towel, agonizing bit by agonizing bit. He finally had it off and breathed a sigh of relief when no new blood flowed out.

There was already so much of it.

He felt for Grantaire’s neck, heart pounding, and shuddered when he felt the other man’s pulse under his finger. It seemed weak, but Enjolras couldn’t be sure.

Enjolras stood on shaky legs and began washing his hands at the sink, first until all the blood was gone and then again, counting slowly to 30 like Joly constantly admonished all of them to do during flu season. He dried them and then dampened the other hand towel. Using a bit of soap, he began cleaning Grantaire’s arms as gently as he could.

When the blood had been cleared away, Enjolras felt woozy again, clearly able to see the deep cuts on both of Grantaire’s wrists. He made himself look away and searched through the cabinet, finding first the ointment Grantaire had applied to his back and then a roll of gauze and medical tape.

Enjolras rubbed the ointment on, then taped the gauze into place. He desperately hoped it was enough to prevent infection from setting in. Combeferre spent enough time talking about the dangers of antibiotic overuse that Enjolras knew how important their effectiveness was in cases where they were truly necessary.

He paused again, unsure how to treat Grantaire’s blood loss. Joly always recommended rest, warmth, and fluids for everything from a stubbed toe to Ebola. Enjolras went to the door and unlocked it. He bent down and managed to pick Grantaire up and carry him out of the bathroom. He stopped when he noticed a small and shallow cut on the top of Grantaire’s arm.  
He set the other man back down and pulled the medical supplies back out. He paused after rubbing the ointment on. It seemed odd there would be a lone cut so different than the others. Enjolras bowed his head. His captor said he caught Grantaire with a knife and minor injury earlier. It seemed that Grantaire had purposely let himself be caught so that he would have a better chance later.

Enjolras picked Grantaire back up, trying not to think about how deliberately Grantaire had once again set everything up.

Their captor was not to be seen, probably hiding out in his office. Enjolras carried Grantaire out of the bedroom, not wanting him to wake up on their captor’s bed and potentially panic. Hesitating, afraid to leave Grantaire alone again, Enjolras finally ran down the hall to the linen closet and pulled out as many blankets as he could carry. He bundled Grantaire up as gently as he could, tucking his arms under just one layer, wanting to be able to get to them quickly if something went wrong. He went to the kitchen and got a glass of water to have on hand.  
Then he knelt by Grantaire, slipping one of his own hands under the blanket to hold the other man’s. His eyes filled with tears, and he laid his head down on Grantaire’s chest, comforted by hearing the heart within continue to beat.

Dawn had begun to break outside when Grantaire finally shifted. Enjolras jolted, having drifted off. He cracked his very stiff neck as Grantaire’s eyes fluttered open. Grantaire opened his mouth but then coughed. Enjolras grabbed the now warm glass of water and helped Grantaire to sip it.

Grantaire’s head fell back, eyes closing for a minute before re-opening. “Where – where is Jehan?” Enjolras blinked. It was hardly the question he expected, and then his heart sank. Did Grantaire not know where they were? “They’re going to be so angry with me. I – I was supposed to tell them first if I ever – if I ever felt like -” Grantaire closed his eyes, voice growing even smaller. “Is that why they’re not here? Are they mad at me?”

Enjolras shushed him, stroking Grantaire’s forehead until he stopped mumbling. There was another long silence. Enjolras wondered if Grantaire was asleep or unconscious again when the man in question opened his eyes back up and looked at Enjolras, seeming a little more focused.

“Shouldn’t – shouldn’t I be in the hospital?” Enjolras looked down. Yes, Grantaire should be in a hospital. It was his fault that he was still here, trying to recover from suicide on his rapist’s sofa. 

There was another long silence. Enjolras began to weep again. He laid his head back on Grantaire’s chest.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Apollo,” Grantaire admitted, quietly. “Either way.”

“I was going to send help as soon as I could.” Enjolras turned his head towards Grantaire, their faces very close. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand what you were doing.”

Grantaire smiled weakly. “It’s OK, Apollo. I didn’t really want you to.” His eyes fluttered a few times. “I didn’t think we ever had time for you to fit in your full equality of all speech, so I thought I’d just save us both the trouble.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, pausing, unsure how to respond to Grantaire’s casual deflection. “Grantaire, I don’t want you to call me Apollo anymore.” Slowly, trembling slightly, he began stroking Grantaire’s knuckles with his thumb. In the silence that followed, he realized just how very scared of the other man’s rejection he was, knowing how much he deserved it.

He jumped at the first touch and then settled when Grantaire began softly running his free hand through his hair. He knew it must be matted and gross at this point, but it didn’t seem to bother Grantaire. “Alright, Enjolras.”

They stayed like that for some time, and Enjolras almost forgot where they were.

“Well, isn’t this a touching scene.” Enjolras would’ve probably shot through the ceiling if his hand hadn’t been in Grantaire’s. Their captor was back, looking like he had just gotten out of bed. Now that the blood and gore was gone, he sounded just as cruel as Enjolras had come to expect. Enjolras’s head began to swim when he realized the man was holding the mitts he had previously used on him.

“Give me your hands, boy.” Enjolras and Grantaire both tightened their grip on each other simultaneously. Their captor sighed. “Are you deaf? I said, give me your hands.” Enjolras remained still. He felt the scissors pressing into thighs, still in his pocket. “I’m sorry, I thought you would’ve had enough of a guilt trip by now, but I’m happy to add to it. I can’t imagine sitting outside without those nice blankets would help that stupid slut feel much better.”

Enjolras wanted to keep holding Grantaire’s hand, wanted to say no, wanted to try stabbing their captor, but all he could see was Grantaire in the bathtub, all he could feel was the blood soaking both of them. Letting go of Grantaire and a shaky breath at the same time, Enjolras held out his hands. 

Their captor laughed, easily binding up Enjolras’s hands as he offered no resistance. Enjolras slumped down, already feeling the edges of panic creeping in.

“Now,” said the man, suddenly lifting Grantaire up from the couch bridal style, “I’m going to bring Grantaire to bed so he can rest properly. What do you say to that, boy?”

Enjolras shut his eyes. “Thank you, Master.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a long time trying to Google how Grantaire's suicide would work in real life, and all I managed to find was that he would lose some amount of blood and take some amount of time to feel better. I hope I didn't make the whole recovery sound too easy or romanticized. That certainly wasn't my intention.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my wonderful husband was trying to be supportive about my writing this and asked me very earnestly if E/R was a popular pairing. Then he asked me why I was laughing so much.
> 
> Anyway, we're finally back in the present! I thought I could sneak in some comfort, but the word count got out of control, so enjoy your 4K words of angst.

Despite how tired he felt, Enjolras was too keyed up from all the adrenaline to sleep. It seemed enough to just be allowed to rest quietly with Grantaire. Jehan had returned to their knitting, and the rhythmic clacking was incredibly soothing.

Enjolras should’ve known better than to think the peace would last. Probably only a few minutes later, he heard the troop of searchers coming back down the hall. It made sense that the dark-haired woman had only been able to hold them off briefly – Enjolras shuddered to think how much of a bad boy he had been. But he also couldn’t bring himself to consider how truly awful it would feel to be dragged away from Grantaire.

Everyone stopped in front of the door, though Enjolras could only see their silhouettes through the curtain. The woman stood in front of the door, and her posture suggested it would take some sort of heavy machinery to remove her.

“Éponine, that was incredibly irresponsible to lead us on a wild goose chase.” Dr. Combeferre sounded more tired than angry, but he also wasn’t speaking to Enjolras at the moment. If he thought 5 minutes around the ICU with Éponine was a wild goose chase, what would he think 30 minutes of searching the whole hospital was? Enjolras found he couldn’t stop shaking, just as his leg had trembled so uncontrollably waiting for the elevator.

Jehan set aside their knitting and stood up, hands up uncertainly. After a moment, they rummaged in a cupboard and removed a fleece blanket and brought it to the bed. Enjolras didn’t think it was a trick, there was no reason for Jehan to have waited until this moment, but he still didn’t want to let go of Grantaire for even one second, just in case. 

“I’m going to tuck this around you, Enjolras,” Jehan said, when Enjolras continued to lie still. Jehan made no move until Enjolras gave a tiny nod. He was rewarded with a soft smile and gentle hands tucking one side of the blanket under him and the other under Grantaire. The shaking subsided a bit, now that Enjolras was cocooned with Grantaire. He rationally knew it was just a blanket, the sense of security was totally false, but it still felt nice, still was some comfort he wasn’t used to. 

“What’s irresponsible, Combeferre, is not explaining to Enjolras properly what was happening so that he felt like his only option was running all over the goddamned hospital to get to R.” Éponine was the one who sounded truly angry, but it also sounded like she might be on Enjolras’s side? If he focused on one or two people, Enjolras could keep track of what they wanted from him, but trying to juggle so many people at once gave him a headache.

“We did explain!” Master de Courfeyrac defended Dr. Combeferre. “Ferre told him he just needed to wait 36 hours and then we would take him to visit Grantaire right away!”

“I said properly explain,” Éponine snapped back. “You might have told him, but did he really understand you?”

“I admit, perhaps we should’ve made sure -”

“He had to fly here in a fucking helicopter because the hospital in Podunksville couldn’t adequately treat Grantaire. Don’t you think he would be a little unsettled to not be able to make sure that after all of that R was actually OK?”

“Disorientation and confusion is very normal, but if he was aware enough to walk around, then he should’ve been able to process -”

“Goddamn it, Combeferre, does someone who ‘understands’ steal your badge and-” 

“Maybe we should have this conversation somewhere else. We might disturb that other patients.”

“I can get louder, Joly, if that’s what you want. You’re supposed to be one of R’s best friends. You gave Jehan and I that big lecture on how loved ones can comfort patients in the ICU, even if the patient is heavily sedated. Did you warp to some sort of alternate fucking dimension where R would somehow feel better without Enjolras around?” Éponine was now pointing an accusing finger in what must be Dr. Joly’s direction.

“Éponine, we explained it was just until we knew he wasn’t -”

“I’ve had enough of this bullshit.” The door swung open, and Éponine entered, dragging Dr. Combeferre in, shadowed closely by Dr. Joly. “Enjolras!” 

He jumped. 

“You understand Grantaire is very sick, right?” 

He nodded. Éponine was so imposing that it didn’t even occur to him to refrain from answering.

“I’m no doctor,” and she threw a death glare at the two actual doctors as she said this, “but I’m guessing this didn’t happen overnight.”

Enjolras shook his head. Watching Grantaire slowly deteriorate day by day had been the second hardest things he’d ever had to witness.

“Did he get you sick?”

Enjolras shook his head again. Slowly, he withdrew a hand from under the blanket and tried to wave it in a vaguely backwards direction. Éponine stared at him like she could unravel the meaning with her burning gaze.

“You were the one who got Grantaire sick?” Jehan asked, suddenly speaking up from the couch.

Enjolras drew his hand back in as fast as he could and nodded.

Éponine folded her arms and stared pointedly at her adversaries. Dr. Joly held his free hand up to his face and turned away. Dr. Combeferre folded his arms and stared at the ground.  
“Enjolras, why didn’t you tell me?” he asked finally, voice strained. 

Enjolras worried at a bit of blanket. Dr. Combeferre had clearly been using the promise of seeing Grantaire as a way to manipulate Enjolras into behaving. Such a promise could be revoked at any time. Protesting would’ve only changed the terms of the promise, not the actual outcome. Master de Courfeyrac had been intent on having Enjolras talk to the police; Enjolras had no doubt he would’ve fail, even if only through paralysis in his sheer terror at the prospect, and the visit with Grantaire would’ve be taken away. 

“Enjolras?” Dr. Combeferre asked, though it came out more as a squawk than a word.

It seemed flippant, but given his continued inability to speak, Enjolras gave a small shrug.

Abruptly, Dr. Combeferre turned on his heel and left, chased down the hallway by Master de Courfeyrac and followed more slowly by Feuilly. 

In the meantime, Dr. Joly seemed to have recovered himself a bit and was looking between Enjolras and Grantaire, a large frown on his face.

“I told you he didn’t understand,” Éponine said, much softer now, and gave Dr. Joly a hug. “Do you want me to call Chetta or Bossuet?”

Dr. Joly took a deep breath and shook his head. “No…no. I doubt the hospital has a standing policy about two patients sharing a bed in the ICU, but I should prepare something for management when they arrive in the morning. We can’t exactly keep it a secret.”

“Look at that, Enjolras,” Éponine said, nudging him with her elbow, “not even been here two days, and you already have people fighting The Man again.” Enjolras wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, but at least she sounded amused. 

Dr. Joly stirred from his reverie. “I’m going to go ask Courf for help with this. His more…emotional delivery might be helpful here.”

“I love Courf as much as you Joly, but what if he jumps up on the table and shouts ‘Objection!’ again if they start to disagree?” Jehan asked, even as they did something complicated with their knitting. 

“Are you re-ordering the list of embarrassing things that have happened to me in court without my input again?” Everyone looked up, though Enjolras only did so from under his eyelashes.  
“Marius!” Jehan exclaimed, putting down their project and getting up to hug him. “I thought Cosette had explained to you nights are for sleeping.” Marius smiled ruefully as he set his backpack down and Jehan fussed about, making a place for him on the sofa.

“It seems like none of you got the memo either.”

Enjolras shifted slightly, finding a new piece of blanket to worry at. Why was Master Pontmercy here? If he wanted to use Grantaire, this hardly seemed like a good time. 

“Oh, hello there, Enjolras. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Enjolras ducked his head down and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Marius, are you here to replace Courf?” Jehan asked, in a way that seemed to imply the question was for Enjolras’s benefit. 

“Oh, yes, sorry, Courf called me earlier when Enjolras first woke up. Jean brought me from the station, I think he wants to have breakfast with Cosette when she gets here.” Enjolras opened his eyes slightly to see Master Pontermercy attempting to set up a laptop and remove his jacket all at once. “I was going to ask to sit in as well, but now I think he and Combeferre needed a bit of…a break. As much as you all rag on me for forgetting to sleep, I don’t think either of them have gotten any proper rest the last two days.” 

“I finally got a bed for us permanently in one of the on-call rooms. I’ll let them know.” Dr. Joly gave himself a shake and Enjolras listened to his cane tap down the hall, glad at the very least he could no longer be beaten with it.

“You need to make sure he understands, Marius,” Éponine suddenly said, waspish. 

Master Pontmercy looked over his shoulder from where he was trying to plug the laptop charger in behind the couch without being able to see the outlet, frowning.

“It seems we weren’t being as clear as we could be when talking to Enjolras,” Jehan cut in, still calm. “Éponine just wants to make sure this isn’t any more frightening than it needs to be.” Éponine gave Jehan a look that seemed to say she would’ve added a bit more…clarification to that explanation but said nothing.

“Oh,” Master Pontmercy said, finally winning the battle with the cord. “Of course I can explain again.” He approached the bed, Éponine still watching him closely. He closed his eyes and took a few moments to compose himself.

“I know it’s really easy to worry when you don’t understand what’s going to happen, Enjolras, so I’ll do my best to explain, but I’ll clarify anything you want.” Enjolras stayed still. Sometimes knowing the exact punishment made him even more wound up; it took away his ability to endure by pretending there was even a remote chance it would be over any sooner. Master Pontmercy didn’t seem to notice and continued.

“There’s a detective from the police here that’s going to interview you. I don’t know exactly what she’s going to ask, but for now it will probably be very basic questions about what happened and who did this to you. There is enough physical evidence to charge whoever it was, but none of it could link us to a specific person. It might sound really intimidating to talk about, but the police want to know because it’s better for society as whole to catch the person or people responsible.” Master Pontmercy paused and gave Enjolras a small smile at that part.

“Even though it might not always feel like it, I promise the police remember you’re the victim, and not a single one of us blame you for anything. The questions they have to ask will most likely still be uncomfortable. That’s what I’m here for.” Master Pontmercy did a weird flourish with one hand. “You’re not legally required to tell the police anything, so you don’t really need a lawyer in the traditional way a suspect being questioned might, but you’re entitled to have an advocate with you. I’ll be here to help in any way you need, even if you just want me to sit here silently.”

Enjolras’s stomach churned, and he clenched his hands under the blanket. He knew the last thing he was supposed to do was talk to the police. The whole thing still sounded very confusing, but it seemed like Master Pontmercy was there to keep track of his transgressions so he could be thoroughly punished later. Enjolras doubted he could’ve stayed away from Grantaire if he had tried, but now he realized what a corner he had backed himself into. 

Grantaire could hardly be moved, so if Enjolras wanted to stay with him, he would need to be a good boy and comply with the orders of everyone in the room. His head swum trying to reconcile that notion with the fact they were asking him to be a bad boy. But it somehow didn’t seem like a trap; whenever Master set up one of these impossible scenarios, he positively reveled in, dragging out the anguish of choosing for as long as possible. No one seemed to be enjoying it like that now.

“Enjolras, what’s the matter? What part worries you?” Jehan asked.

Enjolras was afraid to agree, afraid to accept whatever unknown pain and torment would be his due, but his biggest fear was that the punishment would again result in separation. He didn’t know when Grantaire would wake up, but the thought of him being alone when he finally did, in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by people that meant to hurt him, was even worse. Enjolras pulled a whole arm out of the blanket this time, reaching to grasp Grantaire’s hand.

“I promise you can stay with Grantaire, Enjolras, the whole time.” Enjolras looked up at Jehan pleadingly, willing them to understand the rest. Jehan frowned, forehead wrinkling. “Nothing bad will happen to Grantaire, I promise.” Enjolras closed his eyes, working up the nerve to agree to what Master Pontmercy had asked. He knew he would have to tell Grantaire whenever he woke up, and Grantaire would probably go into a morose spiral when he found out Enjolras had protected him.

Éponine, who had been quiet this whole time, thumped the bed suddenly, then buried her face in her hands. “What is with you people?” she snapped, voice muffled. “Enjolras, you don’t have to do this. And if you do, nothing bad will happen to you or Grantaire.”

Enjolras frowned. It was hard to imagine trusting anyone, let alone this strange woman, but then again, Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac had dogged his every step since he woke up, and she had managed to banish them, at least for a little bit. She also seemed on edge, and it would hardly do him any favors to upset her. He managed to nod.

“Wonderful,” Master Pontmercy exclaimed, clapping his hands together like a small child might when seeing a puppy. “I’m going to go to get the detective and come back. It will probably be a few minutes, but that doesn’t mean anything bad.”

“I’ll help you get comfortable while you wait,” offered Jehan, as Master Pontmercy left the room. They helped Enjolras sit up, wrapping the blanket back around him. Enjolras instantly missed the contact with Grantaire and pulled the man’s legs gently into his lap. Once Enjolras was settled, Jehan went to another cupboard and took out a whiteboard and a pack of markers. They held out the package to Enjolras.

“I’m more than happy to help interpret, Enjolras, but I want you to be able to use your own words, if you’d like.” Enjolras hesitated, finally pulling out the green marker. Jehan shut their eyes briefly and then set about fussing with the blanket again, even though it hadn’t moved. By the time they had finished and sat back down on the couch, now joined by Éponine, Master Pontmercy returned, a petite young woman in a uniform in tow.

“Hello, Enjolras,” she said, talking quietly and calmly in a way that reminded him of Jehan. “I’m a detective with the police. I’m here to ask you some questions about what happened to you.” She sat down on the now positively jam-packed sofa, opening a notepad and clicking a pen. “First, I just want to confirm you are comfortable with Marius, Éponine, and Jehan being here for the interview.” Enjolras nodded.

“Wonderful,” the detective said, making a note. She looked up. “It’s make me glad to you know you have so many friends supporting you, Enjolras. I want to acknowledge this must be intensely difficult for you, and I really admire how brave and strong you are.” Enjolras stared down at his whiteboard, shifting under the weight of the praise, especially when he was actually being a bad boy. “I’m going to ask what feels like a lot of questions, Enjolras, and I might ask you to clarify things for me, but I promise it doesn’t mean I doubt your story. Mr. Pontmercy explained it’s difficult for you to talk right now, but I want you to take your time and not agree with our interpretation of anything if it’s incorrect.

“How about we start with the basics? Can you summarize for me what happened?” 

Captives, he wrote. He should really clarify he was a boy and Grantaire was a slut, but he couldn’t bring himself to write the hated words.

“OK, you were held captive. Can you tell me who did it?”

Enjolras shook his head.

“That’s fine. Can you tell me how many people it was?”

Enjolras held up a finger.

“OK, one person did this to you. Can you describe anything about where you were? Any little detail can help.”

Cottage and crawlspace, Enjolras wrote.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about the cottage? Maybe about the exterior? We’ll need to identify it to get a warrant to search the inside.” 

Enjolras pressed the edges of the whiteboard into his palms until it hurt. Twice he had been out front on his own, and countless other times when Master had dragged him next door for a separation punishment, but on none of those occasions had he bothered to notice the street name, or even the house number. He closed his eyes, trying to remember anything distinguishing.

Fence, he managed, and then tree before crossing it out. That dead tree, bare as it was, had provided him a bit of shelter many times when he had been sent out in inclement weather. Grantaire had found him sobbing by the patio door when it came crashing down under the weight of heavy snow one winter, unable to bear the thought that he would be completely exposed next time Master forced him out.

“There was a tree, but then something happened to it?” the detective asked, sounding slightly unsure. Of course it was stupid to have mentioned it. Even Master had been surprised at Enjolras’s level of anguish, though he had gleefully sent Enjolras into a hail storm two weeks later, watching him from the living room as he sipped a cup of coffee and pet Grantaire’s hair.

“It might sound silly, Enjolras, but you would be surprised how a tiny bit of information can make a huge difference in a case,” Master Pontmercy said, speaking for the first time since the interview began.

Enjolras paused again, before writing snow and fell. 

“So there was a tree in a fenced yard that fell down in a snowstorm? What happened after that?”

Enjolras remembered being suddenly dragged back to the crawlspace two mornings after the tree had fallen and having his mouth and hands taped, even though he hadn’t done anything yet that day to be a bad boy. Grantaire had been shoved in after him, with the threat that if Enjolras so much as looked the wrong way, Grantaire would be shared among the arriving workmen. Master had made sure to emphasize Enjolras would be the one to decide how Grantaire would suffer three cocks at once. The two of them had stayed very still and close all day, hardly daring to breathe when the workmen stood outside their window, adding firewood to the stack.

Workmen and cut, wrote Enjolras.

“Do you have any idea who the workmen were or what company they worked for?” the detective asked.

Enjolras began to shake his head and then stopped. There was that creepy stump magnet he looked at nearly every day, the only exceptions being when he was held elsewhere for punishment. He knew Grantaire could probably draw it perfectly in less than a minute, but he himself struggled to scribble out something remotely close to the picture.  
The detective frowned. “Is that – is that a stump?” Enjolras nodded, ashamed of how pathetic the effort was.

“Oh, is that the logo of the company?” Master Pontmercy asked, springing up and nearly dropping his laptop in the process. Éponine raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Jean has tons of different brochures at his house, I think he has some retirement fantasy of becoming a forester again. Why don’t I go get him? He might recognize it.”

Enjolras dropped the whiteboard and marker, dizzy again. “It’s still so weird to hear you call him that,” Éponine said, though it sounded like she was underwater and far away.   
Master Pontmercy was going to get Master Prouvaire? Enjolras swore he would never complain about adhering to the whims of one master again, when he suddenly had some many thrust upon him. Finally, he realized Jehan was repeating his name over and over and looked up, not wanting them to think he had been ignoring them.

“Can you tell me what’s upsetting you, Enjolras? I’m sure Marius didn’t mean to startle you.” Enjolras burst into tears at the question, bending over Grantaire’s legs and stroking them over and over. Jehan made shushing sounds, but Enjolras couldn’t stop, terror building at the thought of what Master Prouvaire would do when he arrived.

“I’m sorry, should we come back in a bit?” asked an older man at the door, accompanied by Master Pontmercy. Enjolras was so startled that he abruptly stopped crying. Jehan looked at him, surprised, but then waved in Master Pontmercy and the other man.

“Enjolras, Jean thinks he can help find the workmen who cut down your tree. He’s just going to ask you a few questions about it, OK?”

Enjolras nodded, though the terror gripped his chest again when he couldn’t answer any of the new man’s questions: What kind of tree was it? How much of the trunk was left in the ground? How big was the stump? All he could add was that there had been three workers and it had only taken one day.

The man nodded thoughtfully and took a picture with his phone’s camera of Enjolras’s crude drawing. “I make no promises, but I’ll see what I can do.” He turned to the detective. “I promise to pass on any leads as soon as I can.” The man squeezed Marius’s shoulder and left, stroking his chin and gazing off into space.

Just as suddenly as he had stopped crying, Enjolras started again. He had worked himself up into such a state at the thought of seeing Master Prouvaire that he plunged right back into it after being denied the emotional release. He heard the detective talking to Master Pontmercy and then leaving, while Jehan tried unsuccessfully to shush him again. 

“Enjolras, you did such a good job talking to the police. I promise you’re not in trouble. I promise Grantaire’s not in trouble. Please, tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll do my best to fix it.”

Enjolras stared at the whiteboard. Jean would be much easier to write than Prouvaire, but that had caused the confusion in the first place, so he agonizingly spelled out the longer name, then turned the board to Jehan.

When Jehan remained silent for much longer than normal, Enjolras managed to look up. Jehan stared between Enjolras and the board, with an occasional glance at Éponine, who seemed just as confused. 

“Enjolras, I – that’s my last name.”

Enjolras looked at Jehan full in the face again and then fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you got the Phoenix Wright reference, let's be friends.
> 
> I left the detective unnamed on purpose because I have this weird hang-up about OCs in fics, but I couldn't really think of any character to use for her. (Because Javert is definitely not on gentle interview duty!) I briefly thought about making her Azelma, but since she seems to have no development in fandom other than maybe being looked after by Éponine, I figured she would basically be an OC anyway and there was no point.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos! I realized I've shown up like 50 years late to the Les Mis party, so I sort of assumed I would be writing into the void, and it's so motivating to get all this feedback. (I hesitated to say this, because I don't want to look like I'm begging for more, but I figure there is so much negativity in the world, it couldn't hurt to share some positivity!) 
> 
> This is the chapter I've probably felt the least-inspired writing so far, so I apologize in advance if it's a little lackluster. 
> 
> A quick note on pronouns - I tried to make it clear in text, but I wanted to clarify in case I did a bad job - Enjolras uses they/them pronouns for Jehan because he's not really sure what they are, but Master Prouvaire is definitely a man in his mind, so he uses he/him pronouns. Enjolras knows they're the same person but can't reconcile what he's seeing with what's in his head. Hopefully that makes sense!

Enjolras opened his eyes and stared at the bright light above him. He felt the warmth of another body next to him and a heavy blanket on top of his own. His feet were elevated on a metal railing. He blinked a few times and looked around.

Éponine sat on the couch, soothing Jehan, who had their face buried in their sweater, shoulders shaking with quiet tears. Master Pontmercy hovered nearby, wringing his hands but doing nothing except glancing between Enjolras and the couch every few seconds. 

Enjolras looked down and realized with a wave of relief the person next to him was Grantaire, apparently undisturbed. He sensed a presence next to him but quickly looked back down when he saw it was Dr. Joly, leaning on his cane and watching Enjolras with a furrowed brow.

“Are you back with us, Enjolras?” There was a substantial pause as Enjolras considered whether this was simply a rhetorical question, but when the silence stretched on, he managed a small nod. “That’s really good,” Dr. Joly said, beaming at him. His cane made a click as he set it against the bed railing to fuss a bit with the blanket. Enjolras went completely still. It all seemed a bit hazy, but he knew he must have done something wrong. 

Dr. Joly was no doubt happy he was awake again so that he could punish him – it would hardly be satisfying to beat him when he was already unconscious. Master sometimes continued after that point, but he almost always sought Grantaire out afterwards, still needing release. If Enjolras tried to discuss it, Grantaire would simply shush him and continue fussing with their quilt until Enjolras acquiesced. 

Enjolras’s stomach continued to churn as Dr. Joly walked away and sat down at the desk in the corner, typing away at a tablet. After a few minutes, he returned and encouraged Enjolras to sit up very slowly, lowering his feet from the railing and supporting his back, only letting go after Enjolras had held himself up for a bit. This time when he left, Dr. Joly fished through the desk drawer and took out a bottle of pills. He tipped a few into his and and brought them over to Jehan, along with a plastic cup of water from the sink. It took a few heavier sobs before Jehan got themselves under control enough to drink.

Dr. Joly came back a second time, though this time he bent down and picked something off the ground. Enjolras flinched when Dr. Joly stood up, expecting to be struck by whatever he had grabbed. Instead, Dr. Joly stood very still and studied the board in his hands, shooting a few looks over to the couch as he did so. “Do you remember what happened, Enjolras?” the doctor finally asked, turning the whiteboard so Enjolras could see it.

The hazy uncertainty persisted for one excruciatingly long moment, and then everything came flooding back. The person being rocked on the couch by Éponine wasn’t Jehan, not really – he was Master Prouvaire. Enjolras had thought he had been so clever this whole time, assuming he could trust the person who gave him Grantaire’s shirt to hold while they were separated, but it was instead an elaborate trick. It had been an extremely long time for Master Prouvaire to maintain the ruse, so whatever the intended pay-off was would have had to been something truly awful. 

Or perhaps there really was no trick. Dr. Combeferre had wanted to control Enjolras by keeping him separate from Grantaire from the start, making a visit something he could try to earn; Master Prouvaire must have brought them together so that he could threaten to the end of the visit as punishment. The idea of a reward had been laughably remote, but the thought of being forcibly pulled away from Grantaire after having just gotten to him made Enjolras cold. 

It was theoretically possible that everyone had been in on Master Prouvaire’s trick, but Enjolras doubted he would be so upset if that were the case. With so many masters, it seemed reasonable Master Prouvaire would want to try some sort of power play to prove his dominance among them. 

“Enjolras?” Dr. Joly prompted, still frowning. Enjolras shook, clutching the blanket around him. He really wanted to clutch Grantaire instead but was too afraid of disrupting all the equipment attached to him.

“Enjolras, do you think you can tell us why remembering Jehan’s last name scared you so much?” Enjolras continued to shake, having no idea how to convey with gestures or a few written words everything he had realized. 

“Do you want me to leave, Enjolras?” Master Prouvaire asked, hiccupping a bit between words. “I didn’t want to worry you by going away just because you were frightened, but I promise I’ll leave if you want.” Enjolras just kept shaking. It was not his place to dictate where Master Prouvaire went or when. 

Dr. Joly went to another cabinet and returned with a few pillows, arranging them so Enjolras could partially recline. “It’s OK if you’re not ready to tell us, Enjolras, I just want you to rest for now. Do you feel like you could eat something?” It was a cruel question, but Enjolras nodded, knowing the punishment would be worse if he stayed quiet. “OK, just get comfortable and I’m going to bring you something.”

There was a burst of activity and first a plastic cup of warm water was pushed into Enjolras’s hands, which he drank under Dr. Joly’s insistent gaze, followed by a Styrofoam bowl of plain oatmeal. It took him a minute to readjust to holding the spoon, especially as the occasional tremor still racked his body. Master hadn’t forbidden them from using silverware, not exactly, but he rarely gave them anything to eat that strictly required it; even if he did, they always ate with their hands as quickly as possible, not wanting the food to be taken away.

Enjolras eventually got the hang of it and progressed through the oatmeal in small bites. Dr. Joly watched him and smiled a bit whenever Enjolras chanced a glance up at him. Just as Enjolras had finished, feeling impossibly full, Feuilly appeared at the door and tapped on the glass.

“I’m sorry, this seems to be a bad time. Should I come back later?” He looked between Enjolras and Master Prouvaire, who had finally quieted down but still sat curled up with Éponine.

“Whatever Enjolras wants,” Jehan replied with a sniffle. Everyone looked at Enjolras and he quailed under the weight of their stares. Dr. Joly looked ready to speak when a nurse in blue scrubs appeared.

“Dr. Joly, the X-ray tech just came on the ward to do her rounds. Do you still need her to come by here?”

Enjolras watched Dr. Joly shift his weight back and forth, but the man just smiled at the nurse and asked her to have the tech come by. When the nurse left, he turned to Enjolras, pausing before speaking. “Enjolras, you understand Grantaire needs a lot of care at the moment, correct?” Enjolras nodded. He wasn’t sure why everyone continued to tip-toe around the topic; he hadn’t made the decision to try to get help lightly, Enjolras was perfectly aware Grantaire had been dying. 

Dr. Joly paused again. “We have him sedated to let the ventilator breathe for him to allow his lungs to rest, but the risk does increase the longer he stays like this. It’s minor at this stage, but the intention is to allow Grantaire to breathe on his own as soon as possible.” Enjolras nodded again. He hadn’t known exactly what kind of care Grantaire needed, but everything Dr. Joly outlined sounded reasonable. He also couldn’t lie to himself and pretend he didn’t wish to speak to Grantaire, or at least have him be aware of his presence. 

“OK, well, part of that determination is made based on a daily chest X-ray.” Again Enjolras nodded. Dr. Joly shifted his weight back and forth. “Enjolras, to minimize radiation exposure, we all will need to leave the room while the tech does the X-ray.” 

Enjolras felt a wave of dizziness. Just because he now understood what Master Prouvaire had likely been doing, it hadn’t expected them to capitalize on it so quickly. He racked his brains as he knotted the blanket in his hands: what had he done wrong to be punished? Maybe they were just tormenting him for fun, but separation was always, always, always a punishment.

Enjolras’s first instinct was to grab onto Grantaire, but with four people in the room, now including Feuilly, at best it would only delay the inevitable and at worst it would hurt Grantaire. Enjolras allowed himself to touch Grantaire’s leg one last time, trying to memorize the feeling, before clambering over the bedrail. He stood shaking in front of Dr. Joly, staring at the ground, unable to stop the tears from returning. 

He was bundled into a wheelchair and rolled into the hallway, accompanied by everyone except Dr. Joly as a technician in black scrubs pushed a giant machine into Grantaire’s room. She conferred briefly with Dr. Joly, who then joined them outside. Enjolras had been allowed to keep his blanket, and he pulled his head into it like a turtle, unable to bear being so close but yet so far from Grantaire. It reminded him of the first time he had come up to the ICU, and he was afraid to come out, afraid Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac would be back to haul him away. Outside his blanket cocoon, he caught snatches of Dr. Joly explaining to Feuilly what had happened with Master Prouvaire.

Enjolras remained like that, even as he felt the wheelchair move, wanting to keep pretending Grantaire was right there, was just on the other side of the door. He tensed as strong arms lifted him out, trying to brace himself for the inevitable drop, so prepared in fact that he jumped when he was gently deposited onto a bed. He could feel the human warmth next to him and managed to pull his head out just enough to expose his eyes. He…had been brought back to Grantaire?

Had the masters all just been teasing him, giving him a taste of what would happen if he did misbehave? Nothing made any sense, but he was left alone for the moment, and Enjolras set about fixing Grantaire’s blankets, disturbed by the technician. Even after he was satisfied, he smoothed them over and over.

He jumped when Dr. Joly began tapping his cane rhythmically against the floor, but thankfully the man was over at the desk and staring at his tablet. He rolled his head from side to side, moving the image around on the screen. The cane suddenly stopped and Dr. Joly looked up, grinning brightly. “I want to consult with radiologist to be completely sure in this case, but to me it looks like Grantaire is well enough to come off the ventilator.”

Master Prouvaire burst into tears again, though they sounded much happier than the first time. Éponine got up and gave Dr. Joly a long hug, followed by Master Pontmercy. Feuilly stayed seated on the couch but smiled down at his folded hands. 

Enjolras looked at Grantaire, studying his relaxed face. He couldn’t remember the last time Grantaire had been this much at peace. He simultaneously wished Grantaire could be woken up right this second and be left in this suspended state for a while longer. 

“Do we have a few minutes before that happens?” Feuilly asked, quiet by firm.

Dr. Joly looked startled but nodded. “Yes. I put in a call to Radiology, but it could a bit before they prepare their findings. Sometimes they’re overwhelmed first thing in the morning.”  
“Enjolras, you certainly can choose not to answer, but I was thinking.” Feuilly paused, weighing his words. “I know you saw me in the lounge earlier. Why did you just walk by?”  
Enjolras went back to twisting the blanket. He couldn’t bring himself to answer. 

“If I take a guess, Enjolras, will you tell me if I’m right?” Enjolras twisted the blanket until his fingers ached. “You didn’t react to me being there because you didn’t know who I was, did you?” The blanket fell from Enjolras’s hands and he nodded automatically. 

Master Prouvaire suddenly spoke up, still wiping tears from his eyes. “Is that why you were so willing to trust me at first? Because you didn’t recognize me?” Enjolras felt himself nod again, as if his brain and body were disconnected. “Oh, Enjolras.” Master Prouvaire began to weep again as Éponine stroked his hair. 

Dr. Joly gestured with the tip of his cane at Éponine. “Do you know who she is?” Enjolras paused and ultimately shook his head. He knew the woman’s name now but still didn’t really know who she was. “But you know who I am?” Enjolras looked furtively at Dr. Joly before nodding. 

The three of them looked between each other and Enjolras looked at Grantaire, unwilling to think of what they were planning to do with him. Enjolras wasn’t even sure what he had done wrong exactly, but that wouldn’t prevent him from being punished. If Enjolras went too long with breaking a rule on his own, Master would simply change them without saying anything, pouncing as soon as Enjolras put a toe out of that new and arbitrary line.

However, before that punishment could be handed down, Dr. Joly’s pager went off and he left, accompanied by Master Pontmercy. Master Prouvaire got up and cautiously approached the bed. “I’m sorry, Enjolras, I don’t mean to push, but I can only begin to imagine what’s going through your head. I promise – I swear I’m still exactly the same as before. I mean you no harm. It was an accident, but I still feel it’s only right to ask for your forgiveness.” 

Enjolras head spun. Did Master Prouvaire wish for Enjolras to pretend he wasn’t aware of the ruse, that he wasn’t aware Master Prouvaire was really the one waiting to pull him away from Grantaire?

“I would be careful if I were you, Enjolras,” Éponine said, voice shaking slightly but tone still light. “Jehan will knit you and Grantaire matching rainbow sweaters if you don’t let them go back to fussing.”

Master Prouvaire frowned and then suddenly brightened and shook himself. “I should have thought of that.” Enjolras wasn’t sure he wanted rainbow anything, but he certainly would accept any warm clothing, especially if there would be some for Grantaire specifically. “Enjolras, can you think of something nice I can do to prove to you this isn’t some sort of trick?”

Enjolras frowned. Master often made him and Grantaire choose their own punishments from a list of options, basking in their anxiety as they tried to choose the least of all evils, knowing it was guaranteed whatever they picked would still be horrific. But he had never asked them to pick a reward.

He felt adrift and anxious. If he picked something small, like an extra blanket, would he be punished for not being grateful enough or merely mocked for wasting a once-in-a-lifetime chance? If he picked something large, which was a concept so foreign he couldn’t even imagine what might qualify, would he be punished for being greedy? Would Grantaire be punished in his stead?

At this last thought, he couldn’t help but stare at Grantaire, still lying calm and quiet. “Oh, you want me to do something for Grantaire?” Master Prouvaire asked, not understanding. 

“No, please,” he whispered, voice suddenly returning. He fought to keep the oatmeal down. “Please, not when he’s like this.” 

“Oh, Enjolras, no.” Master Prouvaire briefly covered his face with his hands. “This isn’t a trick. I don’t want anything bad to happen to Grantaire any more than you do. I swear.”

“We’ve been here the whole time, Enjolras,” Éponine said, more tender than she had ever sounded, “and Grantaire has been just fine.” Enjolras did not let himself be fooled. Just because he couldn’t see any evidence that they had touched Grantaire, it didn’t mean they hadn’t.

“Please, Enjolras,” begged Master Prouvaire, amazingly sincere for a liar, “there must be something I can do to show you I won’t hurt either of you.”

It seemed Enjolras would be forced to pick. If it would end in punishment no matter what, he should at least try to get something nice for Grantaire first. Everything that initially came to mind, everything he had day-dreamed about, had already come true. Grantaire was getting the medical care he needed, he was being allowed to rest peacefully, and he was even been fed, in some fashion. He could hardly ask for Grantaire to be left alone permanently, such a “choice” would surely be even more harshly punished than even Enjolras’s most outlandish fantasy. Was there something he could do to at least ease Grantaire’s pain?

Finally, he pulled a hand out from the blanket and made a cutting motion against his own hair and then looked pointedly at Grantaire. Master Prouvaire and Éponine looked at one another, eyebrows raised, but then both smiled. Éponine pulled at her phone and began typing something, and Master Prouvaire turned back to Enjolras. “You want us to give Grantaire a haircut?”  
Enjolras nodded. He had been allowed to chop his own hair however he liked, but Master had let Grantaire’s hair grow out, creating a better and better handle to grip. Eventually, his hair had naturally stopped growing, his body too starved and abuse to spare the energy, but it had still gotten quite long and unruly. Even the hint of a touch to Grantaire’s hair caused him to freeze and then go limp. As much as Enjolras often longed to stroke it, he had to restrain himself to merely touching Grantire’s neck or upper arms.

Éponine glanced up from her phone. “I feel uncomfortable cutting his hair while he’s asleep, but I promise I’ll do it as soon as he’s alert and Joly gives me the go-ahead.” Master Prouvaire nodded in agreement. 

Enjolras felt hollow, unable to believe they had agreed, or, at least, pretended to agree. How could it be so simple?

He was still pondering this question when Dr. Joly returned, followed by Dr. Combeferre, who seemed more rested than earlier. Dr. Joly went to the sink to wash his hands and put on a pair of gloves, while Dr. Combeferre approached the bed. Enjolras tensed and looked down, willing Éponine and Master Prouvaire to remain silent.

“Enjolras, I want to explain what’s going to happen now. The radiologist confirmed Grantaire can breathe on his own. Joly and I are going to take him off the ventilator and discontinue the sedation.” He paused and sighed, momentarily removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “We honestly can’t predict how Grantaire will react when he wakes up. Some people recall nothing while they’re sedated, and the gap in his memory might extend even further back, since he was so ill. Other people have some idea of what happened, though it’s generally fragmented. Other people report having hallucinations and nightmares. I just want you to be prepared for any of those things.”

Enjolras bit his lip, stopping himself just before he drew blood. Grantaire had looked so calm this whole time, it hurt to know something completely different might have been happening in his head. Enjolras knew he was plagued by terrible nightmares, which only grew worse if Enjolras wasn’t there to shake him awake and hold him afterwards. 

Dr. Joly came over and swapped place with Dr. Combeferre. “I can’t think of a way to say this without it sounding worse than it actually is, but it might be best if you don’t watch this part, Enjolras. It can be very stressful for…loved ones to watch ventilators being removed.”

Enjolras complied quickly, pulling his head back into his blanket. He wasn’t exactly sure what was involved with disengaging a ventilator, but if taking his own IV out from the catheter had made him queasy, he doubted he could handle watching this. 

He clamped his hands over his ears, the sounds too upsetting, even on their own. He could still hear the two doctors murmuring back and forth. Each second felt like an hour, but eventually, a hand touched Enjolras’s shoulder. He jumped, but peeped out from the blanket. 

With the ventilator removed, he could see just how sunken and ashen Grantaire’s face still was. Grantaire’s eyes remained closed, and Enjolras wormed his hand around under the blankets until he could hold Grantaire’s, stroking the knuckles softly. The room was quiet except for the heart monitor but finally, Grantaire’s eyes fluttered open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, Grantaire! I'm sorry it took me so long to wake Grantaire up, but I didn't want to have him be deathly ill and then take the easy way out. Dr. Google seems to think bad pneumonia takes 3-4 days of major intervention, so I hope we're all fine pretending the power of E/R love is enough to skip a day of that. It was really hard to find to clear information on how/when ventilators and sedation worked, so hopefully a little hand-waving was acceptable.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so it seemed like everyone was expecting happy fun times now that Grantaire is awake, but unfortunately the angst train stops for no one. (I would say I'm sorry, but I'm really not.) I'm much happier with this chapter than the last, so hopefully it is more enjoyable to read as well!
> 
> ***Trigger warning for flashback to a suicide attempt***

Enjolras could scarcely breathe as he watched Grantaire. The other man’s eyes open and shut several times. Finally, he picked his head up slightly to look around and locked eyes with Enjolras. Grantaire frowned, eyebrows knitting together. Enjolras’s stomach dropped. Had Grantaire forgotten who he was?

Grantaire remained like that for another long moment, and then he began clumsily flailing his arms towards Enjolras. Enjolras scooted up on the bed, unsure exactly what Grantaire wanted. When he was level with Grantaire’s chest, Grantaire started bumping Enjolras’s face with one of his hands. Enjolras tried to remain still, doing nothing except closing his eyes when necessary. Finally, Grantaire managed to lay his hand across Enjolras’s forehead and frowned deeper.

Enjolras could feel Grantaire’s hand warm with his own fever and wondered if Grantaire could tell Enjolras’s forehead was actually cool. Apparently he could, because he withdrew his hand. With a gesture that surprised Enjolras with its suddenness and ferocity, Grantaire wrapped both his arms around Enjolras and dragged him against his body like an over-sized teddy bear.

He knew Grantaire’s sedation probably wouldn’t wear off instantaneously, but he must have been a lot more out of it than Enjolras initially assumed. Grantaire was rarely physically demonstrative in this way; he would always take tender care of Enjolras after punishments, but no matter how roughly Master treated him, Grantaire never asked for the same attention in return. Enjolras could probably count on one hand the number of times Grantaire had reached for him out of his own initiative. 

Grantaire relaxed and closed his eyes, and Enjolras dared a glance across the room. Éponine seemed once again completely focused on her magazine, and Master Prouvaire was working on his knitting at a pace that suggested he was in some sort of speed competition. Dr. Combeferre was typing at the desk, but Dr. Joly was watching them. Enjolras shrunk down. He and Grantaire had never cuddled like this in front of Master, and it wasn’t technically against any of the rules, but still, it seemed like something they would be punished for. 

But Dr. Joly just smiled at him in the same way he had when encouraging Enjolras to eat and drink earlier, so it seemed the punishment would at least be delayed? Normally Enjolras hated waiting, hated trying to control his slowly building terror, hated failing and spending the rest of the day doing nothing but worrying himself physically sick in anticipation. This time was different though. As much as his stomach hurt knowing some unknown punishment was due to him, Enjolras couldn’t imagine leaving Grantaire’s side at the moment, not when he was still so unaware and vulnerable.

Abruptly, Grantaire opened his eyes and felt again for Enjolras’s forehead, still fumbling to get his hand in the right spot. Once satisfied that Enjolras still had no fever, Grantaire adjusted his grip and tucked Enjolras in again. This pattern repeated several more times, Grantaire looking just as concerned each time. Enjolras wasn’t sure if Grantaire couldn’t actually remember checking his temperature or if he just didn’t trust his memory, perhaps aware on some level his brain wasn’t fully functioning.

After what had to be about the ninth or tenth time, Grantaire frowned and paused when he touched Enjolras’s forehead, a little more coordinated than the previous attempts. “Did I – did I already do this?” he asked, voice weak and rough. Enjolras wasn’t sure if it was from his previous uncontrollable coughing or irritation from the ventilator.

Enjolras nodded. He wanted to speak, but he could feel the weight of at least Dr. Joly’s eyes on him and couldn’t find his voice. 

Grantaire’s eyes seemed to focus a little more on Enjolras, no longer as hazy or distant. He closed his eyes again and Enjolras thought he might have fallen asleep, until Grantaire surged up and grasped the front of Enjolras’s gown with both hands. Grantaire tried to shake Enjolras but the angle was so awkward and the man so weak, it felt more like a gentle nudge. “I’ve been hiding food. I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t like it, but you have to take it!” 

Enjolras swallowed audibly and glanced at everyone else. Grantaire wasn’t exactly being loud, but in the quiet of the room, his words were clearly audible. Everyone had looked up, even Éponine, though Master Prouvaire was still knitting automatically, despite not looking at his project. Enjolras looked back at Grantaire and shook his head violently, desperately hoping he could convince them later that Grantaire’s words were just part of a fictitious hallucination.  
“No! You have to, Apollo,” Grantaire insisted, trying to shake Enjolras again as tears welled up in his eyes. 

Enjolras looked between Grantaire and the group of masters and had no idea what to do. If he agreed and placated Grantaire, both of them would no doubt be questioned, and Grantaire seemed entirely too forthcoming in this state. Though he hadn’t time to consider it, Enjolras knew that at some point he, at least, would be interrogated about their escape, but everyone seemed in agreement that Grantaire had been on death’s doorstep, and all of Enjolras’s pleas for mercy would have to hinge on that. He had no idea how he could begin to justify his first escape attempt, so long ago yet so vivid when he could stand to recall it, which he rarely could.

He settled for stroking the free side of Grantaire’s neck, hoping it would be interpreted as a general soothing gesture, with no specific correlation to the words Grantaire was saying. This worked for a time, until Grantaire eventually reached up, sloppily trying to grab Enjolras’s hand in his own. He missed and ended up touching the IV line and froze.

“What’s this,” he asked, voice quieter and smaller than before. He blinked several times. “Are we at the – did we escape?” Enjolras tried to stay completely still, but his face must have revealed the answer. Grantaire was silent for a moment and then curled up in tears, pushing Enjolras away. 

Enjolras sat back, stunned. Grantaire often stubbornly insisted on needing space, these times often coinciding with Master being particularly pleased and sated, but Enjolras could usually break down his wall fairly quickly. If he was never so bold as to take Enjolras in his arms, he also never forcibly kept Enjolras away.

Was this still part of the sedation wearing off? Enjolras tried to make himself believe that, but everything Grantaire had said and done so far made sense, it was just no longer happening in the appropriate context. He had a sinking feeling this latest reaction was the same, even if he didn’t understand it.

Enjolras stayed still, despite his burning need to comfort Grantaire. Given how weak and exhausted he still was, Grantaire’s tears continued for a surprisingly long time. Enjolras looked across the room again and now everyone looked more concerned; Éponine had set her magazine down and Master Prouvaire was no longer knitting.

When Grantaire’s sobs turned into coughing, Master Prouvaire jumped up. Enjolras hovered, torn by wanting to keep Grantaire from the man’s touch and not wanting to upset him any further after it was clear Grantaire wanted him to stay away. “Grantaire, please, you have to try to calm down a little. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep coughing like that.” Master Prouvaire touched Grantaire on the shoulder and Enjolras bit his lip to keep from screaming.

Grantaire looked up briefly, no recognition in his eyes. Enjolras wanted to explain, but he still couldn’t manage to speak. Or maybe Grantaire had recognized Master Prouvaire, for his weeping increased in intensity, punctuated by more coughing.

There was a clatter as Dr. Joly and Dr. Combeferre stood up. Dr. Combeferre prepared something in a needle and passed it to Dr. Joly, who fed it into Grantaire’s IV line. Grantaire calmed down quite quickly but remained awake. His body shook with a few more bouts of coughing and then he was still.

Enjolras hesitated and then reached for Grantaire’s hand, hovering it slightly above the other man’s, giving him adequate time to pull away, even in his altered state, if he still wanted no contact. Grantaire looked at Enjolras, less focused than he just had been, but then suddenly he had that expression that haunted Enjolras often in his nightmares, the expression from the kitchen right before he escaped. Grantaire grabbed him again, and Enjolras let himself be tugged back into his previous position.

“Grantaire, we just gave you a mild sedative. Your lungs still need a long time to heal, and we don’t want you to cough and make it worse,” Dr. Joly explained quietly.

Grantaire went very still next to Enjolras, and he knew Grantaire had at least recognized Dr. Joly. He moved just his eyes to look at Enjolras, studying him, and then suddenly relaxed. Enjolras wondered if it was the new sedative working its magic, but Grantaire still seemed relatively focused. Enjolras has been confused before, but now even more so. He wanted nothing more than to ask Grantaire, but even if he had been able to speak, he couldn’t have done it with everyone in the room listening.

Grantaire now seemed totally relaxed and drifted off to sleep. Enjolras was relieved Grantaire could get some actual rest now, instead of whatever fugue state the heavy sedation had kept him in.

There was a pregnant pause, and Enjolras could tell the masters were deciding who should speak.

It was Master Prouvaire. “Enjolras, why didn’t you tell the detective you tried to escape before?”

Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut. He had known they that understood Grantaire well enough, but having it confirmed still made him dizzy. He had already run away from these masters twice, but how much harsher would they make his punishment, now that they knew he had always been a repeat offender? His eyes burned with unshed tears. How weak must they think him when he spent the majority of his time weeping like a child?

“Enjolras, no one is mad at you,” snapped Éponine, which only made Enjolras flinch at her tone. Master Prouvaire elbowed her, accompanied by a meaningful look, and she took a few deep breaths and tried again, much softer. “I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated. By the situation, not you,” she hastily added. “I thought you understood when Marius told you anything you could tell the police would be helpful.”

Enjolras realized he had started twisting Grantaire’s blanket and stopped himself. The detective had only asked about Master’s identity and where the house was. Volunteering extra information was never a good idea, and he was honestly surprised they were upset he hadn’t done so. Sometimes Master made them do it, teasing them with threats until one or both of them couldn’t take the pressure, but even he never expected them to tell him anything truly of their own accord.

Enjolras hated being punished, but he especially hated being hurt when he hadn’t done anything wrong. While the rules were virtually impossible to follow at all times, they at least let him pretend he had some control, even if it was just over whether to obey or misbehave. When he was hurt just for pleasure, it was a brutal reminder of how utterly powerless he was.

“The detective left earlier, but do you think you would be able to talk to Courf, Enjolras?” Dr. Combeferre asked. “I know he frightened you earlier, but he’ll be more careful this time.” The last thing Enjolras wanted to do was talk to Master de Courfeyrac, but once again, he really had no choice. Dr. Joly had clearly demonstrated earlier that he had no problem taking Enjolras away from Grantaire, and even Master Prouvaire hadn’t intervened. Even if Grantaire did nothing but push him away again, Enjolras wanted to be there when he woke up.

Enjolras forced himself to nod, looking at Grantaire’s relaxed face. 

Dr. Combeferre left to fetch Master de Courfeyrac, and Dr. Joly watched as he forced Enjolras to drink another cup of water and eat another bowl of oatmeal. Enjolras had been growing hungry and thirsty again, but he was unsure why they would want to feed and water him right before questioning. Perhaps they wanted to demonstrate the types of rewards he could’ve earned if wasn’t such a bad boy? He felt sleepy at first, still unused to being both full and warm, but the bolt of adrenaline when Master de Courfeyrac entered with Dr. Combeferre was enough to jerk him out of his drowsiness.

Master de Courfeyrac did seem less…hyper than before, but Enjolras still felt nervous. Perhaps he preferred to be more deliberate when finding out what Enjolras needed punishment for. It made sense. It would no doubt be important to everyone that he be taught a thorough and proper lesson; if the information Master de Courfeyrac gathered was incomplete, the punishment would be as well.

Master de Courfeyrac plugged in his laptop, much more gracefully than Master Pontmercy had, and then settled himself on the sofa. Dr. Joly said something quietly to Dr. Combeferre and then withdrew. Enjolras started picking at the blanket again. The room was very crowded, but Dr. Joly probably just wanted the thrill of finding out how bad Enjolras had been all at once.

Master Prouvaire cleaned the whiteboard from earlier and handed it and the marker back to Enjolras. Enjolras thought briefly of throwing them away, refusing to communicate, but he had only to look at Grantaire again to stop himself.

“Hi, Enjolras,” Master de Courfeyrac said, chin on top of his laptop screen. “Ferre said you had more information that might help us find the person who did this to you. Do you think you can tell me about it? There’s no rush, take as much time as you need.” He smiled a bit, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know this must be really hard to talk about.”

Grantaire mumbled something and shifted in his sleep. Enjolras took a minute to smooth the blanket back into place before forcing himself to pick up the marker. He knew Dr. Combeferre must have already told Master de Courfeyrac that Enjolras had escaped before, but they clearly wanted to torment him further by forcing him to admit to it himself.

He stared at the whiteboard before finally scrawling, escaped. He turned it for Master de Courfeyrac, unable to look.

“You escaped before the time you brought Grantaire to the hospital, is that right?”

Enjolras nodded and then quickly scrawled a large 1, hoping they would believe him. He couldn’t blame them if they didn’t. He had already matched his total escape attempts under Master with them in as many days.

“OK, you tried to escape once before?”

Enjolras nodded.

“Do you remember when it was? Any little bit helps.”  
Enjolras flinched at those words but managed, late fall. He couldn’t remember the year, but it seemed likely the masters knew when he had been taken, so he added underneath it, beginning.

“The first fall you were held…captive?”  
Enjolras nodded again. Maybe he would be granted leniency if they knew it had been a long time ago?

“I know this is a really hard question, but can you tell me why it was unsuccessful?” Master Prouvaire made a noise, but Enjolras wasn’t sure what it meant.

He stared at the whiteboard, searching for a word that would encapsulate the fear and horror but only managed, hand shaking violently, caught. Master Prouvaire made another noise and excused himself.

“It’s not your fault, Enjolras,” Master de Courfeyrac said, sounding sad, even though it had been completely Enjolras’s fault, even though Grantaire had sacrificed everything he could to help Enjolras, and all Enjolras did was blunder stupidly into a trap. He gripped his marker until his knuckles turned white.

“Enjolras, it’s OK,” Master de Courfeyrac said again. “Do you think you could maybe tell me anything you remember about what you saw, even if it seems insignificant?”

Still shaking, Enjolras began making one list of everything he could remember, trying not leave anything out, still distantly hoping to somehow have his punishment lessened by cooperating. It never worked with Master, but Master de Courfeyrac looked so earnest that Enjolras let himself believe.

He turned the whiteboard around again and held it for a long time while Master de Courfeyrac typed on his laptop. He dropped it immediately when Grantaire mumbled and opened his eyes. Enjolras tentatively grasped Grantaire’s hand and stroked the knuckles. He was rewarded by a soft and dopey smile, Grantaire still clearly affected by the drugs in his system, though Enjolras was relieved to see him more relaxed than before. Grantaire clearly wanted to keep his eyes open, but they drifted shut and he settled down again.

There was a rustling from the couch, and Éponine held up her magazine so that it obscured her face.

Master de Courfeyrac finished typing and studied his screen, mumbling to himself and then sending what had to be the longest text in the world. He looked back at Enjolras, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before looking desperately at Dr. Combeferre, though it was Éponine who spoke up, lowering her magazine.

“Why didn’t you try again before now, Enjolras?”

His stomach twisted painfully and his spine burned hot with shame as Enjolras realized this was really the question he had been dreading the whole time. Grantaire shifted again, and Enjolras looked down and felt a lurch when he saw that Grantaire’s arms were soaked with blood. He looked at Dr. Combeferre, horrified that he was still sitting in the corner and not doing anything besides looking slightly puzzled, and then Enjolras began ripping at his hospital gown and somehow got it off. He pressed it against Grantaire’s arms as hard as he could, but he knew it wasn’t enough, could feel the blood soaking his hands.

He heard someone talking to him but he couldn’t understand what they were saying, couldn’t understand why they weren’t helping him. Why had he brought Grantaire to the hospital if they were just going to let him bleed out?

Finally, the words in his ear began making sense. Dr. Combeferre was telling him over and over that it wasn’t real, that Grantaire was fine, that it was just a flashback. When Enjolras looked back down he realized there was no blood. He knew he was still hyperventilating, but Enjolras couldn’t make himself stop. Dr. Combeferre started a new loop of words, urging him to breathe more slowly and deeply, and Enjolras finally managed to comply. He felt exhausted and chilled all of sudden, head pounding.

Dr. Combeferre fetched him a clean hospital gown and a cup of water, even helping to hold it when Enjolras’s hands shook too much to keep it steady. Once Enjolras could control it himself, Dr. Combeferre let go and cleared away the old gown. Enjolras jumped when something touched his leg, but stilled when he realized it was Grantaire. Grantaire managed to find Enjolras’s free hand and circled the palm with his thumb.

Enjolras tried to look down from the corner of his eye, not wanting to reveal that Grantaire was awake. Grantaire was looking up at him from under his eyelashes, concerned, but not in a way that suggested he knew the exact reason of Enjolras’s distress. At least that was a small relief; Enjolras couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be if he trigged a drug-assisted nightmare for Grantaire.

Dr. Combeferre returned and Grantaire stilled. Enjolras forced himself to look up and saw Éponine was gone and Master de Courfeyrac was typing on his laptop again with enough force Enjolras was surprised he hadn’t broken it.

“Enjolras, the best thing for you right now is to rest. Do you want me to give you something to help you sleep?”

Enjolras reluctantly nodded and dry-swallowed the pill Dr. Combeferre offered him. He didn’t necessarily want to be as out of it as Grantaire, but he knew without it he would almost surely have a nightmare, and it seemed the more he was stuck in that memory, the more likely it was Grantaire would figure it out and be triggered himself.

Enjolras already felt more relaxed, the sedative working quickly. He let Dr. Combeferre tuck him in against Grantaire, too sleepy and slow to think twice about it, and Enjolras used his last moments of consciousness to properly lace his fingers with Grantaire’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I based Grantaire waking up a bit on my experiences coming out of anesthesia after I had my wisdom teeth out. I asked my poor mother what time it was once a minute for 20 minutes. (I also yelled at her for not stopping to get me a milkshake on the way home...after we had already stopped to get one and I had specifically told her what flavor I wanted.)
> 
> I did my best to research what a flashback feels like and how to deal with someone experiencing one, but please let me know if I made any errors! And I realize there's no way to guarantee someone a dreamless sleep, but I decided to bend the rules with so poor Enjolras could get a little rest.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little overwhelmed by the requests for more R!angst - hopefully this chapter starts to scratch that itch for everyone! I promise there will be more coming. (I've thought about doing a chapter from his perspective, but I guess I want to make sure it would serve the story first, though, and not just what appears to be our collective need for poor Grantaire to suffer.)
> 
> I'm pretty happy with this chapter but nervous to share it since it's very dialogue-heavy! I tried to indicate how drifty Grantaire was at any given point in the actual dialogue as much as possible without making it obnoxious to read, I hope it works OK!

Enjolras drifted in a foggy haze, not quite asleep but not quite awake either. He could feel someone lying next to him and knew it was Grantaire; this seemed like it was important somehow, but the thought floated away before he could follow it anywhere. Someone was talking close by, but the voice was low and too hard for Enjolras to concentrate on. Something heavy was draped on top of him and he burrowed down deeper into the covers.

He managed to open his eyes after a few more blankets were added to the pile, the weight and warmth now really more oppressive rather than comforting. Grantaire was bent over him, a look of supreme concentration on his face, as he clumsily tried to even out the blanket pile he had created. Master Prouvaire stood next to Grantaire, hands up as if to stop him, but not actually making any contact. “R, sweetheart, I promise there’s enough blankets for both of you. Please stop giving yours to Enjolras.”

Enjolras felt suddenly roused from his torpor as Grantaire continued to awkwardly pat him, not even so much as looking at Master Prouvaire. Grantaire had seen the man the previous day but not recognized him; if he continued to disobey, Enjolras would be taken away before much longer, with what would seem like no warning to Grantaire.

Enjolras struggled to pull himself in a sitting position and saw that Grantaire was now just in his hospital gown, otherwise uncovered. Grantaire did look more focused and tethered to reality than before, though he was clearly still on something and running a fever as well. Enjolras wished Master Prouvaire would leave so that he could explain, explain that Grantaire needed to be good and obey, but that was hardly likely to happen any time soon, so he settled for gently grabbing Grantaire’s hands. 

Grantaire stopped arranging the blankets and looked between Enjolras and their joined hands, as if it was taking a concerted mental effort to work out why he could no longer continue with his task. Enjolras moved one of Grantaire’s hands so that he was now holding both in one hand, using his newly freed hand to shove a few blankets back on to Grantaire. 

Grantaire started to squirm but was too weak to break free of Enjolras’s grip. Enjolras had no real way of telling, but he knew he must be very weak as well, and it was concerning to see that he was able to physically control Grantaire. While they both had wasted away, Grantaire had always remained the stronger of the pair. Enjolras shoved the rest of the blankets on top of him.

Hesitating, Enjolras released Grantaire so that he could tuck him in properly. Grantaire twisted his arms out, but he only used them to cover his face as he began to cry. “It’s supposed to be the other way,” Grantaire managed, muffled. “You need them.” Enjolras tried and found he could still make soft shushing sounds, despite Master Prouvaire’s lingering presence, so he did that while he finished fussing with Grantaire.

It didn’t seem to do much to calm Grantaire, but he at least didn’t appear to be winding himself up any further than he already was. Master Prouvaire stepped away and returned holding a few more blankets. He held them towards Enjolras, though out of reach, teasing. “Look, Grantaire, see?” Master Prouvaire asked, waiting until Grantaire moved his fingers partially out of the way. “There are plenty of blankets. Enjolras can have these,” and the man actually gave them over, though Enjolras held them awkwardly, wondering if this was only temporary, only a trick to calm Grantaire before he went back to sleep.

Grantaire continued to watch from behind his fingers and Master Prouvaire gave Enjolras a pointed, though gentle, look until Enjolras unfolded the blankets on top of himself. Master Prouvaire beamed, and Grantaire’s tears tapered into silence. “Head hurts,” he finally mumbled. 

Enjolras scooted up the bed until he was sitting up and the nudged Grantaire down, after checking there was enough slack in the IV line to allow it. He placed Grantaire’s head on his own chest, careful not to inadvertently touch his hair. Master Prouvaire reached up and pushed a button attached to the IV. Enjolras clutched Grantaire and looked up fearfully. 

“It’s just to help his head, Enjolras. Joly said it was fine to give him some if he complained of any pain.” Enjolras was unsure at first, but in only a few minutes, Grantaire’s breathing had evened out in sleep. Master Prouvaire stepped away again and came back with another bowl of oatmeal. Enjolras ate in small bites, observing the room from under his eyelashes as he did so. 

He was surprised to find that Master Prouvaire was the only one there; other than when he had managed to be totally alone, there had always been at least two people watching him whenever he woke up. Enjolras was at first rather relieved, now that he would only have to manage the expectations of one master, something he was, if not exactly comfortable with, then well-accustomed to. 

Then he felt a wave of fear and nausea, so strong he had to stop eating – why had they been left alone with Master Prouvaire? Did he wish to hurt them but would only do so in private? He wasn’t sure what he could really do if Master Prouvaire did come. He could hardly move Grantaire, tethered as he was to the IV, and Enjolras wasn’t stupid enough to think he could win a physical altercation.

But after Master Prouvaire took away his empty bowl, he merely smiled at Enjolras and took up his usual place on the couch, continuing on with his knitting. Despite the fear, Enjolras managed to doze, though he jerked awake and gripped Grantaire tighter whenever a noise disturbed him. On one of these occasions, startled by something clattering in the hall, Enjolras found Master Prouvaire looking at him with wet eyes.

“Enjolras, I promise it’s safe to go to sleep. No one is going to harm either of you. I’m just here if you need anything.” Enjolras continued to startle awake at every sound.

It was hard to keep track of time, constantly drifting in and out of consciousness, but eventually Grantaire stirred against him. He buried his nose into Enjolras’s top blanket. “This s’nice,” he mumbled, words slightly slurred. “I wanna do this more.” Enjolras had been lifting his hand to stroke to Grantaire’s neck but paused in surprise. Had he made Grantaire feel that attempts to cuddle like this would be rejected? His neck prickled at the thought, but he couldn’t find any specific memory to connect to Grantaire’s words.

Enjolras wasn’t sure if Grantaire was going to go back to sleep or not, but he eventually stirred and kept his eyes open. Grantaire’s back was to Master Prouvaire, but the other man noticed the shift anyway and appeared with a carton of milk, like the ones Enjolras had been given to drink. Master Prouvaire opened the carton and gave it to Grantaire, who stared at it, then tried to give it to Enjolras. 

“R, Enjolras ate while you were sleeping. You each can have as much food as you need. I promise.” Grantaire looked suspiciously at Enjolras until he nodded, grateful that Master Prouvaire had explained for him. There was another long pause before Grantaire actually started drinking, and he generally only managed three or four sips before both Master Prouvaire and Enjolras had to assure him that Enjolras was not hungry.

Grantaire eventually finished, and Enjolras thought he might go right back to sleep, but the other man actually appeared more alert and focused than before. Perhaps the energy of the food was hitting him just as the dulling effect of whatever drugs he was on were wearing off, but before the pain and discomfort could creep back in.

Master Prouvaire hovered between the bed and the couch before coming to some decision, pulling on a gigantic hoodie with Merry Liftmas emblazoned on the front. Despite the fact that he was practically swimming in it, Master Prouvaire seemed to be wearing it unironically. He checked his phone.

“I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll be back in a half hour. If you need anything at all, you can press the call button and a nurse will come right away, alright?” He watched until Enjolras fumbled the button into his hands and mimed pushing it. Master Prouvaire smiled again, and then his whole expression softened. “Enjolras, it’s really important Grantaire keeps resting.” Enjolras flushed and looked away, somehow ashamed that Master Prouvaire thought he would run again, even though he was the one that had pulled Enjolras out from under the nurses station. He forced himself to nod in acknowledgement.

“Grantaire,” Master Prouvaire said next, waiting until Grantaire’s gaze wandered over to him. “Enjolras worked really hard to get here, and he’s going to take good care of you, alright?” Grantaire seemed to consider this statement at length before nodding as well. Master Prouvaire watched them silently for a few moments and then left, drawing the curtain shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Grantaire dived back against Enjolras again, practically burrowing into him. Enjolras managed to untuck both sets of blankets so that they could press together underneath, and then drew them up over Grantaire’s head. Grantaire gave a happy sigh and nuzzled closer, his breath warm through Enjolras’s thin hospital gown.

They stayed like that, quietly, for a few minutes. Enjolras knew he should start talking, but as he tried to prioritize everything he needed to share, Grantaire beat him to it. “’S’nice,” he mumbled again. “I was cold without you.”

Enjolras felt cold too, just thinking about it. Dr. Combeferre had explained Grantaire might have some fragmented memories from when he was sedated, but he felt hollow imagining Grantaire floating in some inner world, only aware that Enjolras was not there. “Thought I was bad and you were gone. Didn’t know what to do.” Enjolras could feel tears begin to seep into his gown. “I had a dream you were gone, like really gone, forever, and nothing I could do would bring you back. It hurt – it hurt so much.”

“Shh, I’m here,” Enjolras whispered, relieved to find he could talk easily now that they were alone. “It’s not a dream, I’m right here.” He tried to rock Grantaire a bit, still cautious of upsetting the IV, even though he knew it could hardly be that fragile.

“Still feels like a dream,” Grantaire said when he could speak again. “The dreams feel just like this. I know – I know this is what’s real, but that’s what I think about the dreams, when they come.” Enjolras’s chest hurt. It was hard enough for him to manage their new situation, and he was still constantly on edge, unsure what the rules and expectations were; he couldn’t even imagine if multiple, equally vivid realities were clamoring together in his mind. Especially if in all but one of them Grantaire wasn’t there.

“Here, how about we do this,” he said, taken by an idea. He laced his fingers with Grantaire’s and squeezed gently. “If I do this, will that help you know it’s not a dream?”

Grantaire nodded against him and squeezed back. “You’re not in the dreams. That’s why I tell myself they’re not real.” Enjolras felt him swallow. “They can’t be real. If they were – I couldn’t – I couldn’t-”

“It’s alright,” Enjolras said, stroking Grantaire’s neck. “I was – I was so scared when I woke up without you.”

Grantaire went very still. “Is that what – is that what Jehan was talking about? When they said you worked hard to get here?” Grantaire fought to turn his head up enough to see Enjolras’s face, frowning. “Enjolras, whatever it was you had to do, it wasn’t worth it.” 

“I didn’t trade – well, not exactly. I think as long as I obey, they’ll let me stay.”

Grantaire turned away abruptly, and then slowly released Enjolras’s hand. “They’re using me to control you.” He tried to push himself away, but Enjolras stopped him easily. “You need to go while you have a chance.” Grantaire pulled his arms in against himself, trembling.

“Grantaire, no!” Enjolras lowered his voice, realizing how loud he had gotten. “I’m not leaving you. I still can’t – when I found you-”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty,” Grantaire interrupted, tone very matter-of-fact. “I knew perfectly well what I was doing. I know I’m still not totally with it,” Grantaire gave a humorless laugh, “but I do know what I’m asking you.”

Enjolras shook his head, too overwhelmed to reply. Every time he had a chance to run again, every time he had even let himself fantasize about leaving, the only thing he could see was Grantaire’s bloody arms, Grantaire’s unconscious body floating in the water. Even if he could somehow know Grantaire would not make another attempt on his own life, the thought of him wandering through life as a miserable, hurting ghost of his former self was more than enough to stop Enjolras. Even the sound of Master locking the bathroom door was enough to make his stomach drop.

“I’m not leaving you, Grantaire,” he finally said, voice trembling.

“You have to.” This was Grantaire at his most obstinate, not even trying to support his argument, just stating it like it was an irrefutable fact, the way someone might say the sky was blue.

“Where would I even go?” Enjolras countered, knowing forcing Grantaire to give him specifics might be the only way to make him see reason. 

“Ask Jehan,” Grantaire shot back, sounding suddenly very angry. Enjolras flinched, surprised and unsure where the sudden venom had come from.

“No, Grantaire. I should’ve told you as soon as he left. He’s – he’s Master Prouvaire. I know he doesn’t look like the picture, but it’s him.”

Grantaire paused. “But they – he hasn’t done anything to us.”  
“Then why did he upset you so much?” Enjolras asked, remembering how Grantaire had cried at the very sight of the man, how angry he had sounded just now.

“I don’t know what you mean,” and it wasn’t clear whether the memory had been lost on purpose or on accident. “If he’s really Master Prouvaire, it doesn’t matter.” On purpose then.

“It matters to me.”

Grantaire remained silent. Sometimes Enjolras wanted to shake him when this happened, force Grantaire to just let him in, but he couldn’t. Forcing them to say humiliating things was one of Master’s games, and Enjolras wouldn’t make Grantaire play it with him. He sighed. 

“Whatever the case may be, when everyone else tried to keep me away from you, he helped me to get here. He even brought me your shirt before I could try again.” Enjolras blushed, embarrassed when he remembered how he had carried on over a stained shirt full of holes. It seemed silly now, almost, with Grantaire himself in his arms, but the fear of never seeing him again was still fresh and horrible enough that he knew it was not.

“You tried to get to me more than once?” Grantaire whispered, nonplussed, but he shook his head before Enjolras could say anything. “Does he know we know?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, and then paused. “He did seem…taken aback though when I found out.”

Grantaire snorted, sounding a bit more like his usual self. “He honestly didn’t think you would be upset that he tricked you?”

“I suppose not, for whatever reason. He was either honestly surprised or an exceptional actor.”

“You know, this medication has really messed with my head. I doubt I’ll remember anything we talked about,” Grantaire said, voice quite clear. “In fact, I might not even remember you were able to speak.”

Enjolras flushed. “I – I don’t know what’s wrong. I just can’t, not when anyone else is-”

Grantaire laced their hands back together. “Enjolras, it’s fine. I wasn’t teasing.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, and he did.

They grew quiet again. Enjolras wondered how much time they had left.

“Are they – are they all here?” Grantaire finally asked, softly. “I think there were more people before. But it’s all so fuzzy.”

“I’ve seen some of them,” Enjolras replied, just as soft. “It seems like Master Prouvaire and this woman I don’t know, Éponine, are usually here. And Dr. Joly. Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac were always there when I was – they were always in the other room. Master Pontmercy came once.” He swallowed. “They made me tell a detective about Master.”

Grantaire shifted. “They want to make sure they can keep us?”

“I don’t know. They haven’t said. And I can’t – can’t ask.”

“Sorry,” Grantaire said, sounding a little fuzzy again. “’S my fault. They wouldn’t have us if I hadn’t gotten sick.”

“No, Grantaire, no. Éponine, she said something, that we came here in a helicopter.” Enjolras thought it had sounded familiar, but whenever he tried to focus on it, the memory drifted out of reach, like a word he couldn’t quite recall. “It’s my fault. Wherever I took you, they couldn’t treat you. They brought us here.”

“Can’t blame yourself, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, sincere despite his increased slurring. “Couldn’t have known.”

“Then you can’t blame yourself,” Enjolras replied, trying to be firm.

“’M tired,” Grantaire finally said, and he honestly did sound pretty out of it again. “Head hurts.”

Enjolras reached up to the same button Master Prouvaire had pushed earlier. He felt torn between the thrill of giving Grantaire this comfort without anyone’s permission, or even knowledge, and the fear that he could somehow give him an accidental overdose. But Master Prouvaire probably wouldn’t purposely show something to Enjolras that would seriously hurt Grantaire. At the very least, the other masters would be upset.

“Should stop sitting like this,” Grantaire mumbled against his chest, definitely sounding dreamy now.

“I’ll move you once you’re asleep,” Enjolras said, hoping there would be enough time.

“K,” Grantaire agreed without a fuss. “’S’nice like this.”

“I know, you told me that.” Enjolras couldn’t help but smile a little bit. It felt wrong to see Grantaire vulnerable like this, because of drugs and not his own volition, but it was sweet all the same. Grantaire had a different set of walls for him than Master, but they were there all the same.

Enjolras was surprised to find he too was quite tired after their conversation, and his throat hurt from speaking so much after his long silence. He drowsed briefly but then stirred when he heard Master Prouvaire talking loudly in the hall, far louder than he normally did. The man paused outside the door, still speaking to his companion, long enough for Enjolras to move Grantaire more or less to his previous spot. Enjolras hesitated but left the blankets open underneath. It didn’t seem obvious from an outsider’s perspective that he could still touch Grantaire, and he was loath to lose the contact.

He and Grantaire were settled for over a full minute before Master Prouvaire entered the room, followed by Master de Courfeyrac, holding a giant stack of papers. Enjolras’s good mood evaporated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Merry Liftmas sweatshirt is real. Google Images pointed me to the mindmytees Etsy store, though it doesn't look like they have it in stock anymore. Which is honestly a shame.
> 
> I also checked and apparently PCA pumps (the way Grantaire is getting his pain medication here) are regulated by computers and won't let you go over a pre-set limit. So I promise Grantaire is just fine!


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was worried this chapter was going to be too short, and then it somehow turned into 5K words. Whoops.
> 
> I promise the R!angst comes back in the second half of the chapter!
> 
> (Also, I'm tempted to make the next chapter all about Joly, because he's the only one with a name that's not 1000 characters long. Thanks, VH.)

Master de Courfeyrac dropped the papers in a messy heap on the desk in the corner, and Enjolras flinched at the noise. Master de Courfeyrac didn’t seem to notice as he took a long drink of coffee from his travel mug, though Enjolras could tell Master Prouvaire had seen from the corner of his eye. He chanced a glance down and felt a little better when he saw Grantaire was undisturbed, thankful whatever medication they had him on could put him under so quickly.

“I think you might have startled Enjolras, Courf,” Master Prouvaire said as Master de Courfeyrac attempted to sort the papers in one hand, still balancing the mug in the other.

Master de Courfeyrac looked up sharply, staring at Enjolras with wide eyes, and then studied the ground, face coloring. “I’m sorry, Enjolras. I just got a little too…enthusiastic, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Enjolras looked away and back down to his hands. The only person he was used to apologizing to him was Grantaire, and practically everything the other man deemed worthy of an apology didn’t really require one. Enjolras wasn’t sure what sort of emotional response was expected of him, but all he really felt was an increased sense of dread that Master Prouvaire, who had so skillfully tricked him earlier, was apparently also able to easily extract apologies from the others on Enjolras’s behalf. If allowing Enjolras into Grantaire’s room had been an act to establish dominance, it appeared to have succeeded.

When Enjolras dared to glance up from under his eyelashes again, he saw Master de Courfeyrac was now facing away from him, dealing with the papers in a slow, deliberate way. Master Prouvaire put a hand on his shoulder and said something to him too quietly for Enjolras to hear, but after considering the words, Master de Courfeyrac relaxed a little and seemed better able to focus on his task.

Master Prouvaire smiled at Enjolras as he brought him back his whiteboard and marker, before returning to the couch and his knitting. Master de Courfeyrac approached the bed but stayed out of reach. Enjolras felt around under the blankets until he grasped a fistful of Grantaire’s gown. He assumed whatever Master de Courfeyrac wanted was related to their last conversation, and he couldn’t bear thinking about his first escape attempt without having at least some physical contact with Grantaire.

Master de Courfeyrac approached, holding the papers. “I’m really sorry again, Enjolras. About everything, I mean, not just now.” He paused, almost as if he expected a reply. “I didn’t mean to trigger a flashback. I – I didn’t know. But that’s no excuse. I should’ve been way more cautious asking you questions.”

Enjolras realized he was picking at Grantaire’s gown now, instead of simply holding it; he couldn’t make himself stop. He didn’t feel like another flashback was imminent, but even grounded in the present, simply remembering Grantaire bleeding out was horrific. 

Enjolras jumped when he felt Grantaire’s hand bump his and then dared to let himself take it. Master de Courfeyrac must certainly have noticed, but for some reason he didn’t say anything. Grantaire began trying to trace Enjolras’s palm with his thumb, though the movements were sloppy. Enjolras wondered if Grantaire even knew what was happening in the real world, or if was coincidentally seeking comfort at the same time as Enjolras, perhaps trapped in a horrible dream.

“I know this must be really difficult, Enjolras, but could you look over these for me?” Master de Courfeyrac held out the sheaf of papers, and Enjolras took them in his free hand. 

He couldn’t bear to look at them for a minute. Sometimes Master liked to write out a list of punishments and force Enjolras, or, if he was feeling especially cruel, Grantaire, to choose. Enjolras was well aware it was hardly a real choice, but Master had a way making it seem like it was, in that moment. The stack of papers from Master de Courfeyrac was very thick, and Enjolras felt sick and dizzy imagining all the different tortures that could be written on them. Eventually, the anticipation was worse than the knowing, and he made himself look.

It wasn’t at all what he expected. The papers, all of them, he saw, when he fanned them out slightly to check the top one wasn’t a decoy of some sort, were satellite photos of different towns. They were slightly blurry and the last few were a bit faded, like the printer had run low on ink, but most of the features on them were readily identifiable.

Enjolras looked back up at Master de Courfeyrac from under his eyelashes, not sure what he was expected to do. Maybe that was the game? Sometimes Master enjoyed setting Enjolras complicated or bizarre tasks with no instructions so that he had no choice but to fail. Enjolras’s stomach still churned at the thought of being hurt, but he hoped Master de Courfeyrac wouldn’t draw out the waiting much longer.

Master de Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “I know they’re not the easiest to look at, Enjolras, but I didn’t want to tie up the printer in Ferre’s office too long.”

“Why didn’t you just use Joly’s?” Master Prouvaire asked. It sounded decidedly like he already knew the answer. “It’s much closer to the ICU.” 

“I understand now using hospital property to print an ‘excessive’ amount of non-work related material is inappropriate,” Master de Courfeyrac intoned formally. 

Master Prouvaire looked up over his knitting, smile now breaking out despite him biting his lip. “The secretary was already in, wasn’t she?”

“I don’t know what she thinks is the best way to cheer Joly up when he thinks he has bronchitis, but I figured a giant delivery of cat memes would help! How was I to know she’d turn me in instead of just putting them on his desk?” Master de Courfeyrac protested. 

“I think she’s smart enough to know Joly wouldn’t come to work if he were actually ill, Courf.”

Master de Courfeyrac huffed. “Just because she doesn’t appreciate the effort I go to to help a friend in need….” He shook himself but seemed more settled after the banter.

“All that aside, I thought about what you told me, Enjolras. You know, about the first time…. Anyway, I know the police can be slow, so I was trying to think of something concrete I could do – that we could do.” He waved at the pictures. “I tried to find every town in reasonable walking distance of the hospital you showed up at. I even included a few outside my range to be conservative. I thought maybe you could look through them and tell me if any of them match what you remember?” Master de Courfeyrac phrased it like a question, but Enjolras knew it wasn’t. He nodded. 

Enjolras tried to focus on the warmth of Grantaire’s hand, reminding himself the botched escape was a long time ago, and Grantaire was next to him, perfectly alive, if maybe not totally safe. 

Master de Courfeyrac was still watching him, so Enjolras picked up the first page from the stack to study. Master de Courfeyrac beamed at him. “I know this is probably difficult, since you didn’t see wherever you were from this perspective, but even if you can just eliminate some of these, that will really help a lot.” He paused and glanced over at Master Prouvaire, who seemed to be trying to communicate with just a silent look. Master de Courfeyrac quieted a bit. “Enjolras, I promise it’s fine if you can’t conclusively pick one out as where you were held. I won’t be upset with you.”

“We’re really proud of you no matter what, Enjolras,” Master Prouvaire added. “We know this has to be really hard.”

Enjolras looked back down at the picture and Master de Courfeyrac finally moved away, joining Master Prouvaire on the couch. He tried to busy himself with his phone, though Enjolras could tell he looked up at frequent intervals. Grantaire’s hand squeezed his, and Enjolras forced himself to take a few deep breaths.

The two biggest features he could remember from his flight were the beach and the main street. He was sure there were more helpful details locked in his memory, but just the thought of having to examine them more closely was almost enough to make him panic. He squeezed Grantaire’s hand back. Enjolras knew he should really let go, but he just couldn’t. It was illogical and irrational, but he felt if he thought about his escape and released Grantaire at the same time, they would be separated again. 

But he still had been ordered to complete this task. The comfort of Grantaire could only aid him, not remove the horror altogether. Enjolras forced himself to focus, hoping the sooner he could look through everything, the sooner Master de Courfeyrac would leave and the ordeal would end. He daydreamed about Grantaire waking up and the two of them being left alone again, and that gave him the strength he needed to continue. 

In his mind, the walk from Master’s house to the beach had taken about 5 minutes, though his perception of time had probably been severely warped by stress and adrenaline and the walk was likely even shorter. Just to be safe, he estimated a distance that could have taken 10 minutes for a healthy person to walk. Even with this conservative criterion, Enjolras quickly eliminated about half of the potential towns from the pile. Even the closest houses were too far from their respective beaches. 

He next removed a large batch of photos that showed no main street or a downtown vastly different in size than the one he remembered. That left only a small handful of pictures, and Enjolras spread them on his lap, trying to remember. The longer and longer he stared, the more he felt none of them were right, though he couldn’t say why. These were all the towns he could’ve possibly walked from, so why did all of them seem wrong?

“Do you have a shortlist, Enjolras?” Master de Courfeyrac asked and came back over. He made as if to lean over Enjolras to look at them as well, but he moved swiftly back when Enjolras jumped. 

Enjolras fumbled for the whiteboard and managed to pop the cap from the marker with one hand. He managed to write, none.  
Master de Courfeyrac frowned. “You don’t think any of these photos match what you remember?” Enjolras shook his head. “Do you remember how far you walked? Maybe I underestimated.”

Now Enjolras frowned. He knew they had been on foot at some point, he could clearly remember how heavy Grantaire’s body had been, how hot it burned with fever against his back. He knew he started walking the same way he had the first escape, east, 50 miles to help. But could he have really walked 50 miles with Grantaire so sick? He had needed most of the night to do 10 on his own, and if he couldn’t really remember what it was like to be strong, Enjolras knew he had been back then. 

He supposed Master de Courfeyrac could’ve been lying about which hospital Enjolras had brought Grantaire to, but that seemed like an awful lot of effort for no real pay-off. If he had simply wanted Enjolras to wallow in the fear and misery of his memories, there were much easier ways to do it.

So assuming Master de Courfeyrac was telling the truth, how had Enjolras gotten to that hospital? It was like when Éponine had mentioned the helicopter, and there was no corresponding memory to either agree or disagree with what she had said.

“Enjolras,” Master Prouvaire asked, “did you not walk to the hospital? Did you get there another way?”

Enjolras trembled and pressed his free hand to his eyes, feeling a headache blossoming behind them. He wanted to remember so badly, if only just so he could tell a convincing lie, but it was like there was a yawning abyss where his memories should be.

“I leave you alone for two hours, Courfeyrac, and what happens?” snapped Éponine, as she barged into the room, a large bag swinging from her shoulder.

“Oh, Courf, what’s wrong?” asked a pretty blond woman, stepping in behind Éponine. Enjolras looked up and recognized her as Mistress Fauchelevent.

“I don’t know,” said Master de Courfeyrac, slightly choked up. “I was just trying to help find out where Enjolras was.”

“Enjolras seems to be having trouble remembering how he got to the first hospital with Grantaire and is a little distressed,” added Master Prouvaire, and Enjolras was at least grateful he wouldn’t have to explain.

“Oh, Enjolras, honey,” said Mistress Fauchelevent, gently pushing Master de Courfeyrac out of the way so she could stand by him. She suddenly turned away. “Why didn’t you ask me to come up for this?”

“I just got…carried away. I lost track of time. I didn’t realize you’d be here yet. I’m really sorry, Cosette.” Enjolras was pulled slightly from his misery by this. Why had Master de Courfeyrac called this woman Cosette and not Euphrasie? Was she not really Mistress Fauchelevent?

“Jehan, do you think you could take Courf back to the on-call room while I talk to Enjolras?”

“Yes, I think that’s good idea,” added Éponine, slamming some things by the sink, much louder than Enjolras imagined was strictly necessary.

“Of course,” replied Master Prouvaire, much closer in tone to Mistress Fauchelevent than Éponine. Master de Courfeyrac quickly gathered the papers from Enjolras and allowed Master Prouvaire to lead him from the room, head bowed.

Mistress Fauchelevent turned back to Enjolras, her face softening. “Was what Jehan said right, Enjolras?”

Enjolras pressed Grantaire’s hand before nodding, shaken by the sudden turn of events.

“Good, good, that’s fine,” she said soothingly, as if Enjolras were a fussy toddler. “I’m not surprised at all.” Enjolras looked up, too surprised himself to stop. “It’s perfectly normal for memories to be jumbled or missing following a traumatic event. We don’t really understand it, but some people even think the brain simply doesn’t form memories the same way during those times, since it’s so busy processing everything else.”

“I don’t blame you if you don’t remember any of it every again,” snapped Éponine, still causing a racket on the other side of the room.

Mistress Fauchelevent frowned at Éponine’s back, but the other woman obviously took no notice. “Éponine, talk therapy is an essential tool to overcoming past trau-”

There came a particularly loud bang. “What’s essential to overcoming trauma, Cosette, is not having the shit scared out of you on a regular basis.”

Mistress Fauchelevent sighed. “Éponine, taking out your frustration on others won’t help anyone. When was the last time you slept or ate properly? Would a discussion on self-care be helpful?”

Éponine whirled around, hands on her hips. “No. Because unlike some people, I am worrying about R and Enjolras instead of myself.”

“What can I do to help, then?” Éponine ignored the question, turning back to the sink. Mistress Fauchelevent sighed again. “I’m going to go eat breakfast with Marius and Dad. I’m here if you need me.” Mistress Fauchelevent waited another moment and then waved at Enjolras as she left.

Éponine turned around after the door clicked shut. She did have rather large dark circles under her eyes, the kind Grantaire got after several sleepless nights, but now she was smiling.

“Do you think Grantaire will wake up shortly?”

Enjolras looked down at Grantaire, who had been still for quite some time. He shook his head. Whatever had induced Grantaire to move earlier seemed to be over, and he appeared to be sleeping peacefully again.

“That’s fine. I thought while we wait, I could give you a haircut first?”

Enjolras froze and looked up. Was this a trick? If he agreed, would Éponine refuse to cut Grantaire’s hair? If he refused, would he be punished?

“It’s not a trick, Enjolras. And you’re allowed to say no if you want. I can just read until R wakes up.”

Enjolras reached up with his free hand and gently touched his hair. It was less filthy than he had expected, given its normal state, but he could still tell it was a matted, disgusting mess. Why Grantaire still usually enjoyed stroking it was beyond him. He couldn’t deny that having someone take care of it would be nice.

“How about this,” Éponine offered, still remaining carefully by the sink. “I can get out all the tangles and wash it, then you can decide if you want anything else.” 

Enjolras caught himself mid-nod and looked down at Grantaire. He couldn’t leave him, not when Grantaire had made it so clear how unhappy and frightened he was alone.

“No, you can stay right where you are, Enjolras. I’ll bring everything to you.” Enjolras sat holding Grantaire’s hand while Éponine bustled about, knowing he’d have to let go. He steeled himself as Éponine approached, but she poked him firmly in the shoulder. “You better not let go.” Enjolras flushed but obeyed, almost a little giddy that something he wanted was the same as what he had been told to do.

“Alright, I’m going to spray your hair down to get it damp, then I’m going to comb it out. Let me know if I hurt you.” Éponine helped Enjolras sit up a bit and then draped a towel around his shoulders. He tensed when she began to spray his hair, expecting the water to be either freezing cold or scalding hot, but the water was pleasantly warm. Once a section was damp to her satisfaction, Éponine carefully held a lock of hair at the roots and went to work with her comb. Enjolras had also expected this part to hurt, but it turned out to be very…relaxing.

He tried to sit very still so Éponine could work, but Enjolras found himself close to dozing off a few times, Grantaire’s warmth and Éponine’s soothing hands putting him into a stupor. He must have actually slept briefly, because one time he re-opened his eyes to see Master Prouvaire had returned. He hadn’t picked up his knitting and instead had his knees pulled into his giant sweater, eyes slightly red. Enjolras wondered why he had been crying. 

Finally, Éponine set her comb on the bedside table and surveyed her work. “That should be it. Are you still alright if I wash it?” Enjolras dared to reach up and touch his hair again, marveling at how his fingers could run through it freely. It was easier to nod this time.

Éponine left and then returned with a tub partially filled with water and placed it next to the bed. She dipped her fingers in and touched them to his scalp. “Is that temperature good?” Enjolras agreed, still amazed the water was comfortably warm.

Éponine helped him lean over far enough so that she could dip his head into the tub. It was an awkward and uncomfortable angle, but not painful, and she did not oblige him to hold it for long. She scrubbed at his hair and scalp several times, helping him lean back to the tub each time. Enjolras felt like he could’ve dozed again if there hadn’t been so much movement required on his part.

Again, Éponine stood back to survey her work. She nodded, satisfied. “Would you like me to cut it now, Enjolras? I can even just take all the dead bits off if you want.”

Enjolras nodded, wanting to finish now they had started, especially now that it seemed Éponine would not hurt him.

She smiled. “I’m going to get some more stuff. Just sit tight.”

Enjolras looked down at Grantaire as Éponine stepped away and was surprised to see the other man had opened his eyes. He immediately squeezed their joined hands, worried Grantaire had been woken by a nightmare. Grantaire squeezed back quickly, but his gaze didn’t leave Enjolras’s face.

Slowly, his eyes seemed to focus and then Grantaire’s free hand came up to touch Enjolras’s still-wet hair. Grantaire went very pale and his eyes filled with tears, which quickly began to fall down his cheeks.

“No, no, no,” he moaned, suddenly tugging Enjolras to him. “I’m sorry,” he began to murmur over and over, trying to tuck Enjolras in with clumsy fingers.

Éponine reappeared. “R, what’s wrong?”

Grantaire looked up, and though his eyes were no longer glazed, Enjolras knew he wasn’t quite in reality. He wondered in the back of his mind if this is what he had looked like during his own flashback. 

“I’m sorry! Please, send me out instead! Don’t make him go back out in the rain!” Grantaire drew a huge, shuddering breath. “It was me! I did it!”

Éponine looked furious and Enjolras tried to twist himself more in front of Grantaire, worried she would lash out in her anger, but he was stuck at an awkward angle with little leverage.

Master Prouvaire gently tugged her away and then took her place. “R, sweetie, no one is going out in the rain. Neither of you did anything wrong, and we’re not upset. Éponine was just washing Enjolras’s hair for him. That’s why it’s wet.”

Grantaire didn’t plead again, but his shaking sobs continued on. Enjolras managed to properly get his arms around him and rocked him slowly. He felt a huge wave of shame at doing this in front of Master Prouvaire, but he would rather receive a real punishment than hear Grantaire carry on about an imaginary one.

Enjolras suspected Grantaire only finally quieted down due to exhaustion, but it was a relief all the same. Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras and reached out for his hair again. Enjolras went still, worried the cycle was about to start all over again, but Grantaire gave one of those dopey, drugged smiles instead. “’S soft,” he slurred. “’S nice.”

Éponine crept back cautiously, as if ready to back up immediately, holding a pair of scissors. Enjolras looked between her and Grantaire, who was still fascinated with a strand of hair, and nodded. “R, I’m just going to trim Enjolras’s hair now. It’ll be even nicer to touch when I’m done.”

Grantaire seemed to consider this. “K,” he mumbled, dropping his hand.

“Here, why you don’t you sit like this,” said Éponine, arranging them until Grantaire was propped on Enjolras’s chest, encouraging them to clasp their hands again. 

“Can hear your heart talking,” Grantaire informed Enjolras’s arm, sounding pleased.

Enjolras couldn’t help a tiny laugh, and neither could Éponine. She draped a blanket around Enjolras’s shoulders, covering Grantaire, but he made no protest. She then set about her work, first cutting larger chunks off and then eventually smaller and smaller ones. Éponine hummed quietly to herself when she began to shape what was left.

Eventually, she put her scissors down and held up a mirror so that Enjolras could see. He gasped audibly, truly amazed at how different he looked. He had thought he looked fairly normal when he looked in the mirror in his original hospital room, before he went to find Grantaire the first time, but now he wondered that he had made it to the ICU without being stopped. This was what a normal person looked like.

“Do you like it?” Éponine asked. She gestured to her scissors. “We can always do something else if you want. I just thought this would look good.”

Enjolras nodded, close to tears. Most of his hair was gone, which wasn’t surprising. Éponine had layered what remained, and it would stay out of his eyes and off his neck even when dry.

“Wanna see,” Grantaire announced, bursting out from under the blanket and spraying bits of hair everywhere. He too seemed genuinely amazed, even in his drugged state, reaching out to touch it again. He petted it for a minute before declaring, “’S really nice now.”

Éponine wiped off the hair that had clung to her sweater and then looked at Grantaire. “R, Enjolras asked us to give you a haircut. Would you like that?”

Grantaire immediately dropped his hand and his face pinched. Enjolras had expected something like this, and he knew Grantaire would feel better afterwards, but he didn’t know how to explain, especially without words.

“Not allowed,” Grantaire said softly. 

Éponine closed her eyes and the stormy look returned, but it was gone when she re-opened them.

“R, it’s your hair. You’re allowed to do whatever you want with it. If you want it long, that’s fine, but could I at least wash and trim it?”

Grantaire shook his head, and his mouth began to tremble as he held tears at bay.

Éponine tried again. “I bet if you let me take care of it, Enjolras will touch it.” She gave Enjolras a look that told him he would do exactly that, without argument.

Enjolras tensed, expecting an outburst, knowing how much Grantaire hated his hair being touched. Instead, Grantaire looked up at him with wet eyes. “Would you?”

Enjolras nodded and gently squeezed Grantaire, trying to wring the hurt out of his own body. First, Grantaire had confessed that he enjoyed close cuddles, and now he expressed an interest in Enjolras playing with his hair. How many other comforting things had Grantaire denied himself?

“Wonderful!” chirped Éponine, brighter than Enjolras had ever seen her. “We’ll start by washing it and then start cutting. I want you to think about what you want done with it, R.”

“K,” Grantaire mumbled again. Enjolras shuffled them around until their positions were roughly reversed. It took Éponine longer to wash Grantaire’s hair, which wasn’t surprising given how much more of it there was. Grantaire remained pliant and relaxed throughout.

When Éponine finished, she dried her hands and turned back. “What do you want me to do, R?”

Grantaire glanced rapidly between Enjolras and his own hands, which Enjolras gently pressed again. “Don’t want it,” he finally whispered.

Éponine frowned briefly, and then smiled. “You want me to cut it all off?” she confirmed.

Grantaire nodded. “Please. It hurts.”

Éponine shot a look at Enjolras at that, and he looked away, unwilling to discuss what had happened to Grantaire specifically. But all she said was, “Of course, R, whatever you’d like.”

She draped the blanket back around them, this time plunging Enjolras into the warm darkness. He focused on squeezing Grantaire’s hands at regular intervals, unable to easily judge when he might need extra reassurance without seeing his face. Éponine cut and cut, and Enjolras could feel chunks of hair landing on top of him.

At long last, Enjolras could no longer hear the scissors, and then Grantaire burst into huge, heaving sobs. Enjolras struggled out, meaning to hug Grantaire right away, but he stopped, shocked again by the transformation. Grantaire had had so much hair, and now all the remained was a thin, even layer, cropped close to his skull. It was long enough that Enjolras could still clearly see small curls, but short enough it could probably only be grabbed by pinching fingers, and even that would hardly offer any purchase.

He pulled Grantaire to him and rocked him again. He remembered Grantaire’s request and began to touch his hair, keeping it light in case it was still frightening or triggering. It made Grantaire cry harder, but it seemed more cathartic than anything. When Grantaire had calmed, Éponine approached with a pair of clippers in her hand. “Alright if I trim the backs of your necks?”

They both nodded and allowed Éponine to finish her work. The noise was startling to Enjolras, who went first, but he settled when there was no pain. He had thought it impossible, but he felt even better. Grantaire allowed his own neck to be trimmed without complaint, smiling slightly and touching it afterwards.

Master Prouvaire had produced a broom from somewhere and began to sweep up the room, while Éponine cleaned her tools at that sink. Grantaire rolled onto his side with a bit of effort, staring at Enjolras. He frowned in thought.

“You asked for something for me?” he asked, less slurred than earlier.

Enjolras nodded. 

Grantaire’s eyes grew wet again. “Don’t understand,” he whispered, though Enjolras wasn’t sure exactly what it was Grantaire didn’t understand. Master Prouvaire and Éponine both had their backs turned, so Enjolras dared to lean forward and press a brief kiss to Grantaire’s warm forehead. 

Grantaire smiled and closed his eyes, pressing his body closer to Enjolras. “Sleepy cuddles,” he murmured, sounding drifty again. Enjolras was more than happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, apparently no one can agree on the best way to cut curly hair (I read impassioned arguments for cutting wet, damp, and dry), so I just picked one. For the record, I imagine Enjolras's hair looking like the movie version and Grantaire's looking like Justin Timberlake's. (I can't believe I just typed that last bit, but what can you do.)
> 
> I struggled for awhile for what modern!Cosette would call Valjean and settled with Dad. I know Papa is in the musical, but it sounds too outdated in modern times, and Daddy sounded creepy to my Midwestern ear.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if I can write 5K words of fluff, I can write 5K words of angst! I wrote this over a couple blocks of time instead of one straight go like I prefer. I re-read it multiple times to clean it up, so hopefully it doesn't sound choppy.
> 
> (Sorry if there were any weird notifications for this chapter...it somehow posted when AO3 was down, so I deleted and re-added it once it came back to make sure it was all good.)

Enjolras woke up with a knot in his stomach. He kept his eyes closed, hoping he could figure out what was bothering him before anyone else knew he was awake. He focused on keeping his breathing even and slow to maintain the illusion of sleep, as well as to stave off the panic bubbling in his chest.

He had just started to go through his mental checklist when a cool hand slipped slowly into his. Enjolras’s eyes flew open in surprise before he could stop himself. Grantaire had rolled onto his side and was looking at Enjolras more clearly than he had at any other point since they had to come to the hospital.

Enjolras looked over Grantaire’s body at the couch and saw both Éponine and Master Prouvaire were sleeping. Master Prouvaire was still tucked into his huge sweater and had his head propped on Éponine’s shoulder. Éponine was sitting up, but her head was slumped over to rest against Master Prouvaire’s. Enjolras watched them closely for a full minute, gauging time by the steady beeping of Grantaire’s heart monitor, but neither stirred. 

Enjolras couldn’t stop himself from shaking as he reached for Grantaire’s forehead and felt that it was cool, just like his hand. As he lingered there, Enjolras realized he had forgotten what Grantaire’s body normally felt like next to his, when it wasn’t burning with fever.

While Grantaire’s eyes were no longer glazed, Enjolras could tell from the tension in his body that he was confused and distressed. They should really have a conversation now, while they had a chance, and Grantaire even started to open his mouth to speak, but before Enjolras could stop himself, he pulled Grantaire flush against him and began to cry.

He buried his face into Grantaire’s short curls to muffle any sound and just wept and wept and wept.

It hadn’t seemed likely that Grantaire would die in the ICU, though Enjolras let himself acknowledge now that it had been a possibility. But he had been so certain that Grantaire was going to die before that, that it seemed like this reality, one where Grantaire was actually better, couldn’t exist. It seemed impossible that Enjolras couldn’t even remember what had happened, but yet Grantaire was now alive and well.

Even when Enjolras ran out of tears, he kept clutching Grantaire, overcome again by that irrational fear that if he let go, Grantaire would disappear. Finally, the panic started to recede and Enjolras realized, far too belatedly, that he really should’ve asked Grantaire before engaging in such intense physical intimacy.

Enjolras pulled back, though he couldn’t quite manage to release Grantaire’s shoulders. He checked again that Éponine and Master Prouvaire were still asleep before looking at Grantaire. The other man was frowning slightly, but much of his earlier tension was gone.

“Sorry,” Enjolras whispered, so quietly he imagined Grantaire was lip-reading as much as listening.

Grantaire remained still for a long moment, before finally reaching up to gently touch Enjolras’s hair, now able to easily run his fingers through it. Grantaire’s frown deepened. 

“We’re not with Master anymore,” he finally said, somewhere between a statement and a question.

“No,” Enjolras answered, wondering how much more information he should volunteer. He had twisted himself in knots trying to remember the missing night of their escape, and he didn’t want to send Grantaire into the same useless spiral.

“Why?”

“Grantaire, you were-” he paused, worried his voice would crack and wake the others. “You were dying.” He swallowed hard and squeezed Grantaire’s shoulders, reminding himself that Grantaire was fine now, that he wasn’t coughing up blood, that he wasn’t clutching his chest in agony. “I couldn’t – I had to do something.”

Grantaire was still frowning, though now he was staring off into space, eyes flickering back and forth. “You risked everything because I had a cough?”

Enjolras blinked. “Grantaire, please don’t try to deflect. Not this time.”

“I – I’m not,” and Enjolras knew Grantaire wasn’t, not if he were actually admitting he often did so. Grantaire was still gazing into nothing and frowning. “You were sick. I knew it must’ve been bad because you let me take care of you without a fuss. I knew I was going to catch whatever it was.” He closed his eyes and rubbed them. “I got sicker than you did, but it was just a cough.”

“No, Grantaire. It wasn’t. I – I found you in the kitchen. You were unconscious. There was – there was so much blood. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what else to do but try to take you to a hospital.” Enjolras could clearly picture it, could clearly remember the feeling of Grantaire’s body over his shoulders, and then there was the abyss, the giant hole in his memory until he had woken up in the room with Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac watching him.

“I – I don’t remember any of that. It was just a minor cough.” Enjolras’s stomach twisted. He was relieved that Grantaire could no longer recall at least some of the agony he had experienced, but also unnerved that now he might not never know what he had done that night. He couldn’t even be certain it had even been only one night.

“Was I – was I…on something here?” Grantaire’s voice was even quieter and he seemed to be shrinking away from Enjolras’s hands. He shut his eyes, but Enjolras could see tears gathering at their corners. “I was…naughty, wasn’t I?”

Enjolras shook his head as violently as he dared. “No, Grantaire. No. You weren’t.” Enjolras thought back to how openly affectionate Grantaire had been, how willing to tell Enjolras what he wanted. Enjolras wished he could tell Grantaire it had been nice, but the last thing he wanted to do was cause the other man any further humiliation. “You were very…childlike. Nothing you did bothered me. I promise.”

“But I – but I touched you.” Grantaire’s voice was even smaller and from the horror in his tone, one might have thought he was suggesting he attempted to seriously injure Enjolras instead of cuddle with him.

“Yes. You wanted to be close to me.” Grantaire flushed and looked down. Enjolras wanted to cup his cheek and make him look back, to see Enjolras’s acceptance and believe it, but he settled for stroking Grantaire’s neck. “Grantaire, it’s fine. I wanted to be close to you too. I want to be close to you. You just never – I always thought-” Enjolras bit his lip, wishing he knew how to handle this carefully enough to avoid hurting Grantaire even more. “I just didn’t want to trigger anything.”

Grantaire’s eyes flashed up and he wiggled until Enjolras let go of him. “Please. Not right now. Not when I’m already so confused.”

“OK, OK, I promise, I won’t,” said Enjolras, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to. Grantaire did let him resume stroking his neck and eventually settled again. 

“They’re going to know I’m feeling better,” Grantaire finally whispered, looking back at Enjolras. 

Enjolras felt his stomach flip again. He had been so worried about Grantaire getting better, Enjolras hadn’t even considered what would happen when he actually was. Had he really thought they could stay close together in the ICU like this forever? He had put so much effort in getting back to Grantaire, it seemed cruel that they might be separated again.

“You could pretend,” he suggested desperately, wondering how much time that could buy them.

Grantaire’s lips twitched towards a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s usually helpful to know what you’re supposed to be imitating when you pretend like that.”

“I could give you more of your pain medication? You would at least be out of it then.”

“No.” Grantaire’s voice was loud enough that Éponine mumbled and shifted around in her sleep. Enjolras held his breath until she went still again. “No,” Grantaire said again, more quietly. “I don’t want anymore.”

Enjolras shushed him, hot shame running down his spine as he did so. Grantaire had made it very clear that he had terrible and vivid dreams from the drugs. It was horrible that he had even thought of suggesting Grantaire take more when it wasn’t medically necessary.

“Besides,” added Grantaire, “I still wouldn’t have a fever. You couldn’t keep that a secret for very long.”

Enjolras bowed his head. “I don’t know how to take your IV out. I’m afraid I would really hurt you.”

Grantaire gave another of those not-smiles again. “I doubt we could just walk out of here anyway.”

Enjolras burned even more. “We could’ve, if I hadn’t – if I hadn’t – it was so easy the first time.”

Grantaire frowned but then squeezed Enjolras’s hand. 

Enjolras glanced over Grantaire again. He had no idea how long he had been asleep or what time it was, but Éponine and Master Prouvaire didn’t look like they would wake up anytime soon. He looked back at Grantaire, who now looked even smaller and gaunter without his hair. “Can I hold you?”

Grantaire looked surprised but scooched slightly closer and allowed Enjolras to wrap his arms around him again. When they both had gotten comfortable, Enjolras ventured, “You said you liked this.”

Grantaire closed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

Enjolras fell silent and just listened to Grantaire breathe. He tried to memorize how this felt, for when he wasn’t allowed to do this anymore, whether by their masters or by Grantaire himself.

It seemed like they cuddled like that for a very long time, though Enjolras knew later it would feel very short. He wasn’t sure if Grantaire had dozed off or not, but when he heard a cane tapping down the hall and tensed up, Grantaire immediately did as well.

Enjolras froze, mind racing through every possibility. He doubted they could split apart convincingly in time. “Be asleep,” he whispered urgently to Grantaire and shut his own eyes, heart pounding. “We’ll say it was an accident.”

He fell silent just as the door to their room opened. He wanted to try looking out from under his eyelashes, but Dr. Joly was standing still now, somewhere, and Enjolras knew he could be easily caught if the angle was wrong, and he couldn’t risk Grantaire’s safety as well. Finally, he heard Dr. Joly sit down at the desk and start typing.

Enjolras peeped out and could see, even in profile, that Dr. Joly was pale and drawn. He could only hope the doctor was tired enough that he would leave quickly to go rest. Unfortunately, Dr. Joly eventually got up and turned towards the bed. Enjolras wasn’t sure if he had closed his eyes in time. He realized too late, when Dr. Joly came up next to Grantaire, that he was holding his breath. His only chance was that the blankets he was still wrapped in made it less obvious.

Suddenly, the beeping of Grantaire’s heart monitor spiked, and Dr. Joly jumped in surprise. Enjolras knew they were caught. 

“Jesus Christ, Joly!” Éponine managed to still sound terrifying while half-asleep. She stumbled off the couch and over to the bed, looking a little stiff. “Out!” she snapped, practically shoving Dr. Joly through the door. Even though she shut the door behind them, Enjolras could still hear them well enough.

“Éponine, I was just-” 

“Why on earth would you touch Grantaire without warning?” Grantaire whimpered against Enjolras’s chest, and Enjolras hugged even tighter.

“I’m his doctor, Éponine! I was just coming to check his temperature! I didn’t want to wake him up.”

Éponine laughed bitterly. “He wasn’t asleep, Joly.”

“How do you know that? You and Jehan were asleep too!” Enjolras flinched and looked over at Master Prouvaire, who was fiddling with a loose thread on his sweater. Enjolras couldn’t see his expression.

Éponine made a sound of pure exasperation in the hall. “Couldn’t you see how tense they were? They were pretending because they were scared. They’re scaared because no one ever tells them shit. You just walked over and touched Grantaire. What do you suppose they thought was going to happen?” Grantaire let out another whimper. 

Now Dr. Joly sighed. “Éponine, I do need to examine Grantaire. You can’t actually keep me out.”

“Fine,” snapped Éponine, though Enjolras could see she still stood firmly planted in front of the door. “But you are going to explain what’s happening first.”

“I will.” Dr. Joly cleared his throat. “Éponine, R’s my friend too.”

Éponine remained still for a moment and then slumped, and Enjolras realized for the first time how tired she was. She mumbled something too quiet to hear, though her tone suggested it was an apology. She allowed Dr. Joly to hug her and lead her back into the room. She sagged against the couch, and Master Prouvaire wrapped an arm around her, speaking quietly.

Dr. Joly came back to the bed, and Enjolras tightened his hold on Grantaire, even as he knew it was useless. Even though Dr. Joly seemed very tired, Enjolras would be no match for him in a tug-of-war over Grantaire. 

“Hello,” he said, but neither of them moved. “I’m really sorry for startling you. Grantaire, I would like to take your temperature. You can stay like that if you want. I’m just going to put the thermometer on your forehead.” Dr. Joly reached forward and then paused. “I promise it won’t hurt,” he added quietly.

It seemed like an eternity while they waited for the thermometer to run. Grantaire remained perfectly still, but Enjolras felt a wet patch growing on his chest where Grantaire’s head was resting. They both flinched when the thermometer chirped. Dr. Joly pulled his arm away and looked at it. “Your temperature’s normal, Grantaire.”

Enjolras tensed and didn’t even realize at first that Grantaire was trying to pull away. He wanted to hug Grantaire even closer in response, but he forced himself to let go. Grantaire rolled to his back and stared down at his lap, face completely blank, though a few stray tears were still running down his cheeks. 

“This is good news,” Dr. Joly clarified, and Enjolras could only wonder who for. “You don’t need to be in the ICU any longer.” More tears fell down Grantaire’s face, and Enjolras bit his lip to keep from crying himself. He wanted to reach for Grantaire’s hand but that seemed like a bad idea with Dr. Joly right there. 

“I have to make a few calls before I know what’s going to happen next. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Enjolras watched Dr. Joly leave the room. He wondered which of the masters were getting input on what was going to happen to them, surprised Master Prouvaire hadn’t offered any. Perhaps he simply hadn’t been listening, since he suddenly appeared in Dr. Joly’s previous spot, holding two bowls of oatmeal.  
“Why don’t you eat something while we wait for Joly to come back?” Enjolras really wanted to vomit instead, but he accepted his bowl, as did Grantaire. Grantaire struggled with the spoon the same way Enjolras first had, but then began to eat mechanically once he got the hang of it, barely even looking at the food. Enjolras forced himself to eat as well, fighting down his gag reflex with every bite. 

Master Prouvaire took their empty bowls and then they sat in silence. Enjolras jumped at every noise, certain it was Dr. Joly’s cane. Eventually it was, and the doctor returned, now accompanied by Dr. Combeferre. Enjolras’s heart sank, unable to think of why they would need two doctors if they were going to remain together.

“Hello,” Dr. Combeferre greeted them, his smile not altogether convincing. His gaze went between Enjolras and Grantaire, now no longer touching at all. He glanced at Dr. Joly and frowned. Had Dr. Combeferre wished to find them misbehaving so that he had a reason to punish them? Both doctors looked over their shoulders at Éponine, who stood up and crowded around the bed with them. She also frowned when she saw Enjolras and Grantaire sitting apart.

Then her eyes flashed. “Enjolras, you want to stay with Grantaire, right?” Enjolras nodded, twisting his fingers together until they ached. “R, you want to stay with Enjolras, right?” Grantaire remained motionless. Éponine looked like she wanted to bash her head against the wall in frustration, but she simply closed her eyes and took a couple deep breaths. 

“R, Enjolras has already said he wants to stay with you.” Grantaire still did nothing. “Don’t you want to make him happy?” she asked, so blunt Enjolras was surprised Grantaire actually responded by nodding, but then he also shifted himself further away from Enjolras. She gently pushed Grantaire back. “No, R, that’s not what Enjolras said.”

“Yes, we arranged a room on the general ward where you can be together, if that’s what you want,” said Dr. Joly, frowning. He looked like he wanted to add something else, but a sharp look from Éponine stopped him. 

“Normally, you would go to the High Dependency Unit first, but since you always have someone with you, we thought doing just one move to the general ward would be less stressful without compromising your care,” Dr. Combeferre explained, with no interference from Éponine, so that must not have been what Dr. Joly had almost said. 

“It’ll be a lot nicer there,” Dr. Joly added. “The room is lot less crowded and you can have a little more privacy, if you’d like. You can have more visitors, too, if you want.”

Enjolras worked up the courage to reach out to Grantaire. The other man didn’t take his hand but didn’t shrug it off either. “What happens then, sir?” Grantaire asked softly, still expressionless. Enjolras watched the group have another telepathic conversation, all of them frowning to various degrees.

“Well, presumably Enjolras will be discharged first,” Dr. Combeferre finally said, slowly, like he hadn’t been planning to address this topic. “But that doesn’t really need to change anything,” he added quickly. “He just won’t have to wear a wristband anymore and we’ll have to get him a visitor card, and he could theoretically leave without anyone stopping him, but that also means he's allowed to stay.” Enjolras’s squeezed Grantaire’s motionless hands, not wanting him to even entertain the idea that Enjolras would simply walk away.

“Once you’re discharged, Grantaire,” Dr. Combeferre continued, “we can talk more about who you both would like to stay with. You could – you could always go to a rehab facility, but it would probably be extremely difficult to find a place that would let you have a room together, since you’re not married. Even if you don’t need constant care, you simply wouldn’t be physically ready to live alone. We assumed you would want to stay with one of us.”

“But there’s no need to worry about that now,” interjected Dr. Joly. “It’s likely to be some time before you’re both well enough to be discharged. There’s no rush.”

“I want to choose now, sir,” Grantaire whispered. Enjolras jerked in surprise, and Grantaire used the moment to put his hands under the blanket, out of reach. Enjolras looked at Grantaire, whose face was still totally blank. Grantaire had begged and pleaded in the past, certainly, but he had never just disagreed calmly like this. 

Before anyone could respond, there was a knock at the door. Everyone except Grantaire looked over, and Enjolras recognized the man hovering outside as Master Bahorel. Had he come to hurt him? Even if the doctors hadn’t been lying when they said Enjolras and Grantaire would stay together, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be punished for it. He still hadn’t done anything to earn a reward like this.

Master Bahorel waved everyone else out. Éponine was the last one to leave, and she stared at the bed for a long moment before drawing the curtain and closing the door behind her. The group outside seemed to be making an effort to keep their voices low, and Enjolras could hear nothing they said, only picking out that Master Bahorel sounded very angry. Grantaire still hadn’t moved.

“Grantaire, what’s wrong?” he whispered. “You’ve never talked back like that before.”

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me, Apollo.” Grantaire’s mouth twitched. “You should stay with Éponine. She’ll help you understand.”

“Understand what, Grantaire? Why would I go by myself? Why would I go with Éponine?” Enjolras shook his head, trying to remind himself Grantaire had only just broken his fever and was probably still confused, even if he was hiding it. “We can stay with whoever you want when it’s time. I don’t care.”

Grantaire’s hands shifted under the blanket and Enjolras realized he was tracing the scars on his arms. “If I promise I won’t, will you believe me?”

“Grantaire, please, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Have I – have I made you feel rejected? I’m not leaving you.” 

“You know what I’m talking about, Apollo,” Grantaire laughed humorlessly. “I’m weak.” He twisted away when Enjolras tried to touch him. 

“You’re not weak, Grantaire,” Enjolras pleaded, wondering where this was coming from. “I should never have left you alone like that. I’m the one that’s to blame.”

Grantaire stayed still for so long Enjolras thought the other man was going to wait him out in silence. Then, with a suddenness that surprised Enjolras, Grantaire burst into tears and slumped down into a fetal position. Even though Grantaire had tried to push him away before, Enjolras lightly touched his side again and was relieved when Grantaire relaxed slightly. 

Enjolras didn’t think he’d ever heard Grantaire cry like this before. Was it just an emotional release, magnified by being pent-up for so long and the drastic change in their situation? Was Grantaire trapped in the memory of believing Enjolras had left him and was never coming back? Was he distraught at the thought of pushing Enjolras away again?

Dr. Joly and Éponine poked their heads back in, concerned, and Enjolras gathered Grantaire against him, suddenly terrified he would be sedated again and doomed to more terrible nightmares. Éponine said something to Dr. Joly that Enjolras couldn’t hear over Grantaire’s tears and then came in alone.

“What do you need, Grantaire?” she asked, coming near the bed but out of reach. Enjolras wasn’t sure Grantaire had even heard, and Éponine looked at him next. Enjolras wasn’t sure he should explain, but Éponine had been the most vocal about allowing the two of them to interact. The last thing Enjolras wanted to do was gang up on Grantaire, but he didn’t know how else to calm the other man down.

Enjolras looked around and found the whiteboard had been moved to the bedside table. He struggled again to do it with one hand, but he managed to scrawl, wants separation. Éponine looked between the two of them, Grantaire still shaking with sobs, and then paced the length of the room several times, wringing her hands.

When she seemed to have gotten herself back under control, she came to the bed. “R, I need you to look at me. It’s fine if you’re still upset, I just need you to look at me.” Enjolras thought Éponine was about to repeat herself, when Grantaire finally rolled over, seeming drained by the effort. 

Éponine remained firm. “Grantaire, you are staying with Enjolras. If you really want to leave him, you need to convince me first.” She folded her arms across her chest.

Grantaire’s sobs picked back up in intensity, and Enjolras kept glancing at the door, praying Dr. Joly didn’t decide to come in anyway. “Please, I can’t,” he choked out. “I know it needs to happen, but I can’t – I can’t-”

“It does not need to happen, Grantaire. You do not need to make Enjolras leave.”

Grantaire appeared not to have listened, still wracked with sobs. “I know he doesn’t – he doesn’t think – it’s just guilt-”  
Enjolras tried to rock Grantaire, but the other man was shaking too much for him to keep a good enough grip. 

“Grantaire,” said Éponine, and Enjolras was sure she was about to explode, “is that really what you think or is that what your captor told you would happen?” 

“Master, Master said – it was just guilt – he wouldn’t want me-”

“Shut up, Grantaire,” Éponine snapped and Enjolras braced himself, but Grantaire seemed shocked enough by her anger that he obeyed, stifling his tears. “That was a giant fucking lie, and you are not going to listen to it anymore. You are going to listen to Enjolras when he says he wants to stay with you.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to speak but then must have seen enough of Éponine’s face that he closed it and looked away. He was still enough that Enjolras could finally soothe him, and Enjolras was relieved that after a short while he actually fell asleep. He understood now why the doctors said it would be a long time before Grantaire would be strong enough to leave the hospital.

He had stopped paying attention to Éponine, but when he finally felt comfortable enough to look back up, she was still standing by the bed, though her eyes were red and puffy, like she had been crying as well, and also dry, like she had already gotten herself back under control.

“Your captor really made you call him Master?” she finally asked.

Enjolras frowned but nodded.

Éponine looked hard at him. “Do you love him, Enjolras?” 

He looked down at Grantaire and idly twisted a dark curl around his finger before he could stop himself. He had never dared say it out loud to Grantaire, not knowing what kind of reaction he would get, but he did. 

“He loves you too,” Éponine said, even though Enjolras hadn’t really responded. “He can be very stubborn when he puts his mind to it.”

Enjolras moved on to another curl and then looked at the door. He could see that everyone else was still standing in the hall.

Éponine frowned. “Apparently some douchecanoe leaked it to the press that you were here, and now we’re not sure if you’ll be…undisturbed if you’ve moved out of a locked ward. I’m assuming Combeferre is trying to propose a solution that doesn’t involved Bahorel ripping any heads off.” She shook herself. “I doubt this is going to be fixed any time soon. You should get some rest too.”

Éponine waited until Enjolras had slowly shifted Grantaire to lean against his side, and then she straightened out their tangled knot of blankets and tucked them in. Enjolras felt sleepy almost immediately, and wondered at how much strength he had lost as well. “I’m going to go volunteer for Team Bahorel, I think,” Éponine said. “But I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Enjolras pulled Grantaire more snugly against him and allowed himself to fall asleep as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad 99% of my endings are just Enjolras falling asleep, but the poor guy can't stay awake for very long right now.
> 
> (Fair warning - I probably won't get another chapter up until Thursday since it's month-end at work and my peak week of marathon training, so something has to give. It's going to be hard for me - sometimes the words just need to come out!)


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sponsored by me staying up way too late to finish and being very tired at work tomorrow.

When Enjolras next woke up, he felt a whirl of panic in his stomach until he realized Grantaire was still next to him, though the other man had once again moved far enough way that they were no longer touching. Enjolras took a quick glance around the room and saw Éponine and Dr. Combeferre were sitting on the couch. Éponine was reading, and Dr. Combeferre’s chin rested on his chest in sleep, though it must have been an accident because his glasses were still on, instead of tucked safely in his pocket. Other than Éponine occasionally turning a page, neither of them moved, and Enjolras finally felt safe enough to turn his attention back to Grantaire.

The man was awake but sitting perfectly still and staring at his hands. Enjolras’s chest hurt a little when he saw how desperately sad Grantaire looked. In fact, if Enjolras had been an outsider with no context, he would’ve almost thought Grantaire was grieving, he looked that bereft. 

Enjolras slowly reached a hand out and took one of Grantaire’s. Grantaire waited so long to react that Enjolras was starting to think he was so lost in his own misery that he hadn’t even noticed Enjolras was awake, but he finally flipped his own hand over so their palms were now touching. His facial expression remained unchanged.

Enjolras was surprised and continued to wait, wondering if Grantaire was just being slow to react again, but the other man continued to look just as miserable. It was probably healthier for Grantaire to express his emotions, rather than repress them, but Enjolras was honestly starting to worry about how open Grantaire remained, even though he didn’t appear to be heavily drugged like before. 

Had something horrible happened while Enjolras had been asleep? While it was always a possibility, Enjolras doubted anything terrible enough to make Grantaire look this sad could’ve occurred right next to him without him waking up. Grantaire was as far away from him as the bed allowed, and while it felt very far, it was probably only a few inches. Then why was Grantaire letting Enjolras in without so much as acknowledging him?

Suddenly, Enjolras realized he could only see Grantaire’s face properly now that his hair had been cut. Before, sitting with his head bowed like this, his expressions would’ve been almost entirely hidden. Enjolras studied Grantaire’s body language and felt a little sick when he realized he had seen Grantaire like this before but never known just how terrible Grantaire was feeling. Enjolras obviously couldn’t recall every instance, but it didn’t really correlate with the worst sexual abuse Grantaire had endured. Was it some sort of mind game Master had played that Grantaire was now reliving in his head?

Enjolras forced himself to close his eyes again while he thought, suddenly ashamed he had invaded Grantaire’s privacy while gawking like this, even if it was an accident. He wanted Grantaire to realize that without his hair to shield him, his emotions were now on display to anyone looking at him in profile. But Enjolras also realized telling Grantaire that would only make the other man consider what Enjolras had seen and shame Grantaire further. 

Finally, Enjolras settled for squeezing Grantaire’s hand gently a few times, to avoid startling him, and then leaned over to press a kiss against Grantaire’s temple. It was hardly different from the forehead kisses Enjolras normally gave him, but hopefully Grantaire would realize why Enjolras could suddenly kiss him there as well and put the pieces together.

Enjolras counted out five breaths before opening his eyes and Grantaire now looked just slightly unhappy, the abject sadness from earlier pushed back down where no one could see it. Grantaire managed a wan smile and Enjolras dared to kiss him on the forehead this time. Before he could decide what to do next, Éponine set her magazine down loudly.

“Enjolras, now that you’re awake, please tell R to drink his juice.”

He looked over to the table next to Grantaire’s side of the bed and saw a juice pouch with the straw inserted, though it looked completely full. Grantaire didn’t move, even when Enjolras nudged him. Éponine came over with another juice and handed it to Enjolras. 

“R, I told you I would give Enjolras one as soon as he woke up. You need to drink.” She sounded firm but not particularly angry. Grantaire stared at Enjolras, but Enjolras held the juice in his lap, carefully, until Grantaire finally slumped and picked up his own juice from the table. Grantaire refused to actually take a sip until Enjolras did, but at least he finally did drink. 

When they finished, Éponine took the empty pouches, threw them out, and then returned to stand between the bed and Dr. Combeferre, who had wiped the sleep from his eyes and resettled his glasses on his nose.

Dr. Combeferre looked between them and Éponine a few times before speaking. “Did you sleep well?” Enjolras couldn’t speak anyway, but Grantaire clearly didn’t know what the right answer was either and also remained silent.

“Combeferre, while I’m glad Courfeyrac has improved your ability to make small talk, why don’t we get to the point?”

Dr. Combeferre adjusted his glasses. “OK, do you both remember how we said we were going to move you from the ICU?” Enjolras nodded and Grantaire did too, after a moment of consideration. Enjolras wondered if Grantaire’s memories were still jumbled enough to make him doubt himself. “OK, well, we still honestly don’t know who leaked you being here to the press, but we found a room for you on the general ward that will be easy for security to keep an eye on. I promise no one is going to bother you.”

Enjolras’s stomach twisted. It made sense that he and Grantaire would be guarded more closely once they left the ICU, and presumably all its encumbering machines that had prevented Enjolras from even considering leaving with Grantaire. It had been hard to enough to avoid the few masters left to watch them, and Enjolras couldn’t pretend, even to just himself, that he could manage another attempt if there were now also professional security guards watching them.

“I know neither of you probably feel very good, but would you be up to moving now?” Dr. Combeferre seemed to be waiting for an answer, but they both remained silent. “OK, well, first thing is I’d like to give you both some pain medication to make you more comfortable.”

Grantaire went absolutely rigid next to Enjolras as Dr. Combeferre stood up. After Dr. Combeferre took a step towards them, Grantaire let out a frightened cry, before biting his lip and burying his head into Enjolras’s shoulder. He started shaking uncontrollably and whimpering, and Enjolras’s physically ached to see Grantaire so scared. The drug-induced nightmares he had suffered must have been truly awful, if the fear was enough to overcome the sadness that had caused Grantaire to eschew physical contact earlier.

Dr. Combeferre had paused halfway to the bed, frowning. He took another small step forward and Enjolras lunged up, managing to get his hand around the button that delivered the pain medication through Grantaire’s IV. Enjolras forced himself to look at Dr. Combeferre but quickly blinked and looked away, though he left his hand where it was. He made sure to keep his grip loose so he didn’t depress the button on accident, and he fingered at the cord until the button faced out, so that if Dr. Combeferre tried to push Enjolras’s hand into himself, Enjolras could let go with no harm done.

Grantaire’s face was now jammed against his side, and Enjolras felt warm tears seeping into his gown. He could feel Grantaire’s mouth moving and imagined he was begging, though the words were unintelligible. 

Dr. Combeferre was frowning even deeper, and Enjolras tried to brace himself for the blow that must surely be coming. He flinched when Dr. Combeferre lifted his hand, but all he did was remove his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t you tell us Grantaire was having a bad reaction to his medication? We could’ve given him something else.”

Enjolras almost laughed, taken aback by how earnest Dr. Combeferre looked, despite the clumsiness of his trap. Grantaire would’ve deserved every awful nightmare he had if either of them had been stupid enough to tell someone about them. At least now Enjolras understood how it had been so easy to steal Dr. Combeferre’s badge, if even after two escape attempts, he thought Enjolras was that stupid.

“Look at them, Combeferre!” Éponine made a frustrated sound. “Do either of them look capable of telling you something’s wrong?” Enjolras still wasn’t sure whose side Éponine was on, but at least everything she said actually made sense. “Maybe it would help if you actually asked them once in awhile!”

Dr. Combeferre stared at the ground before finally looking back up. “Here, I was going to do this second, but how about I take Grantaire’s IV out first? Then you won’t have to worry.” Enjolras didn’t think Grantaire had registered anything that had been said, so he nodded on his behalf. Dr. Combeferre continued to wait, as if Grantaire would suddenly do something other than cry. Finally, the doctor gave up and went to wash his hands.

He came back and set a roll of gauze and a roll of medical tape off to the side. Enjolras left his hand around the button but Dr. Combeferre made no comment. “Grantaire, I’m not going to lie, this is going to be extremely uncomfortable and probably painful, but it will be over quickly. I need you to hold your breath for me for a few seconds.”

After a few more shaky sobs, Grantaire somehow managed to get himself under enough control to hold his breath. Enjolras looked away as Dr. Combeferre reached for the needle, nauseous at just the thought of the procedure. He focused on smoothing Grantaire’s short curls with his free hand, unable to imagine what the other man must be feeling.

Fortunately, Dr. Combeferre had not been lying, and he quickly told Grantaire he could breathe again. Grantaire’s let out a ragged exhale but his sobs soon returned as Dr. Combeferre pressed a piece of gauze to Grantaire’s neck, looking at his watch. As the seconds ticked by, Grantaire started to get more and more wound up as Dr. Combeferre continued to touch him. Enjolras tried to keep his touch as light and gentle as possible to balance it out.

It felt like an eternity, but Dr. Combeferre was finally satisfied and taped the dressing in place. Grantaire practically collapsed against Enjolras when he was released, and Enjolras did his best to rock him while still stroking his hair, knowing this was only the beginning of their ordeal. Dr. Combeferre washed his hands again and came back with two cups of water and a bottle of pills. He held it out for Enjolras to inspect.

“It’s just ibuprofen. Moving is going to be more painful than you might expect, and there’s no reason for either of you to have to hurt.” Enjolras accepted the two pills and swallowed them with his glass of water in one go. He supposed it made sense; there would probably be a lot of things for Dr. Combeferre to pay attention to while they switched rooms, and he wouldn’t be able to really focus on them suffering. It would be better to save their stamina for being hurt later, when he could relax and enjoy it.

Dr. Combeferre gave Enjolras two more pills and the other cup, indicating he should get Grantaire to take them. The doctor disappeared out of the room and Enjolras waited as long as he dared before rousing Grantaire. He didn’t feel any real effect from the medication, and he finally felt comfortable letting Grantaire take his dose. 

Dr. Combeferre returned with Master Bahorel, Master Prouvaire and a man in a security guard uniform, though the other three men stayed in the hall. The doctor was wrangling two wheelchairs, managing to push them both at once since they were folded up. Dr. Combeferre smiled at them.

Enjolras felt cold. He couldn’t let them put him in a wheelchair, he couldn’t. Even if he wasn’t strapped down, he would be at such a disadvantage and could be easily restrained. It would be so simple for them to take Grantaire away somewhere else while he watched, helpless. 

Dr. Combeferre looked between them. “Enjolras, will you help me with Grantaire?” 

Enjolras stalled for as long as he could, fussing with their tangle of blankets until he had gotten one tied around Grantaire’s waist and another wrapped around his shoulders. Dr. Combeferre lowered the bedrail and then helped Grantaire stand briefly before he sank into the wheelchair. Grantaire’s tears had finally stopped but his face was tight with pain. Enjolras forced himself to push the security guard issue from his mind; it was going to be a long time before Grantaire was well enough to go anywhere, let alone run and hide.

Dr. Combeferre had turned away to unfold the other wheelchair. Enjolras forced himself to get up and purposely turned his back, beginning to fold their remaining blankets. He found Grantaire’s shirt twisted up in one and put it in Grantaire’s lap, not wanting to lose it. The clattering stopped, and Enjolras could feel his spine burn as Dr. Combeferre looked at him.

“Enjolras, can you come get in the other wheelchair, please?” Enjolras ignored him, ignored Grantaire’s unhappy sound when he didn’t obey. He tried to block out everything except his task.

“Enjolras, there are plenty of clean blankets waiting for you in your new room,” Éponine said. “I honestly think Jehan found every single one in the whole hospital for you.”

He froze, not having expected that, spoiling for a fight about how many he could let them take with. 

“Enjolras, can you please come here?” Dr. Combeferre tried again. 

He turned around, but instead of obeying, he grabbed the handles of Grantaire’s wheelchair. He knew it would be useless to try to look at Dr. Combeferre again, so he simply stared at the ground. He flinched as Dr. Combeferre moved towards him, but the doctor stopped when Éponine laughed.

“I told you this would happen.” She waved through the window at Master Bahorel and made a gesture indicating he should pay up. “Just accept it, Combeferre.”

Dr. Combeferre didn’t appear to be accepting it, if the way he was again pinching at his nose was any indication. He sighed. “Enjolras, it is going to be a very long walk to your new room. It will be safer for you to ride in the wheelchair.”

Enjolras continued to stare at the ground. He could tell from the tension in Grantaire’s shoulders that he wanted to stop Enjolras, and he probably only remained silent since he couldn’t know what sort of intervention would both work and minimize Enjolras’s punishment.

“Ferre, they’re scared,” Éponine said, much more softly this time. “This move is already stressful enough. Just let Enjolras do this.”  
Dr. Combeferre began to polish his glasses with his coat. Apparently Enjolras wasn’t the only one capable of stalling when he wanted to. Dr. Combeferre continued his task while he asked, “Enjolras, what if we had Grantaire sit in your lap? Would you sit in the wheelchair then?”

Enjolras froze and watched as Grantaire’s shoulders began to shake, reaching out just a moment too late to stop him. The wheelchair bumped into his legs when Grantaire succeeded in pushing himself out of it and dropped to his knees. At least the blanket Enjolras had wrapped around him cushioned his landing slightly.

“No, sir, please, don’t, I’m sorry,” Grantaire begged between sobs. Dr. Combeferre looked taken aback as he put his glasses back on. He leaned down to reach for Grantaire but Enjolras managed to beat him there by a fraction of a second, hugging Grantaire against him and backing up until he hit the wall. He felt several bruises on his back flare with pain and bit his lip.

Éponine came to stand between them and Dr. Combeferre, and Enjolras felt slightly safer, but he shifted his arms until he had a more secure hold on Grantaire, who had stopped begging but was still crying. “Combeferre, what part of ‘just let Enjolras do this’ was confusing to you?”

“Éponine, I told you. It would be too tiring for Enjolras to try to walk the whole way. I was trying to find an acceptable compromise.”

“Yes, because this obviously isn’t tiring them out at all,” she snapped back, waving an arm backwards in their direction. 

Dr. Combeferre opened his mouth and then closed it in a firm line. He sighed. “Enjolras, you would really feel better if I let you push Grantaire? I can’t lie, it’s probably going to hurt. A lot.”

Enjolras pulled Grantaire even closer against him.

Dr. Combeferre sighed again. “This is against my better judgement.”

Enjolras remained still for a few moments, surprised Dr. Combeferre had caved so easily, even with Éponine’s intervention. When nothing happened, he tugged Grantaire back to the wheelchair and settled him back in it, tucking the blankets around him more securely. 

“Alright,” Dr. Combeferre said, once Enjolras had taken up the handles again, “we are going to take the service elevator down to the sub-basement and walk over to the general ward that way. There really shouldn’t be anyone down there but other patients and hospital staff, but I’ve asked them to come with in case anyone tried to sneak in to see you.” He waved at the group gathered in the hallway.

“If someone does accost us at any point, just try to ignore them,” Éponine added. “I really, really want to see Jehan kick someone’s ass.”

Dr. Combeferre sighed yet again. “Éponine, the security guard is here for those situations.”

“What, you think Jehan showed up just to write a poem about someone terrorizing their friends?”

The door opened a crack and Master Prouvaire poked his head in. “Is everything alright?”

“Yep, we’re just leaving now,” Éponine chirped, urging Enjolras to start walking.

Enjolras obeyed. The security guard and Master Bahorel led the way through the ICU, while Dr. Combeferre and Master Prouvaire walked on either side of him, with Éponine just behind him. Grantaire had gone silent, though his head was bowed and Enjolras watched the occasional shiver run through his body.

It took them less than a minute to reach the service elevator, and Enjolras could now see why they had been so confused the night they searched the ICU for him. There really was no place to hide. He didn’t like to think what would’ve happened if he hadn’t thought to hide behind the nurses station, or if someone other than Master Prouvaire had found him.

The elevator was already on their floor, and Enjolras pushed Grantaire in. He couldn’t help but tense up as the doors shut. There was still a lot empty space in the elevator, but Enjolras started to feel like the walls were closing in, like all the masters were closing in, even though they were all standing still and not even facing them.

The service elevator seemed slower than the passenger elevator, and Enjolras could feel himself already getting tired, just from the standing, when they were deposited into the sub-basement. He had imagined the floor would be like a larger version of their crawlspace, but it actually looked much like the ICU, clean and well-kept. If he hadn’t known they were underground, he wouldn’t have been able to guess.

Master Prouvaire held open a door for them to enter the hallway proper, before returning to Enjolras’s side. Master Bahorel stayed right in front of him, while the security guard walked further down the hall. They sometimes passed other patients, generally accompanied by nurses or technicians, but they all seemed focused on going to their own destinations. Once or twice, Enjolras could feel someone staring, but when he looked up, Master Bahorel had glared them into submission.

Enjolras felt like the walk would never end, especially since there were no real landmarks to help him gauge how far they had gone. Finally, when he thought he couldn’t go any further, Master Bahorel stopped in front of another elevator. This time they had to wait, and Enjolras tried to count Grantaire’s curls to take his mind off the pain. He could tell Dr. Combeferre was watching him from the corner of his eye and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing he had been right.

The elevator came and they all piled in. It was a much tighter fit than the service elevator, and Grantaire pulled his legs up to tuck his knees under his chin. Enjolras knew he did this when he felt especially vulnerable about being touched and started to stroke his neck, though he pulled his hand back quickly when he noticed Master Prouvaire had been watching, though he only frowned and said nothing.

They finally reached their floor and Enjolras followed Master Bahorel once again, trying to remember the way they went, for when he and Grantaire were stronger, though it almost seemed like they were taking a deliberately circuitous route. Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was just so tired it seemed that way or if they were purposely making it more difficult for him to leave without a chaperone.

He was led into a dead-end hallway. The security guard who come with them from the ICU waved at another guard, sitting at the hallway entrance. There was a third guard, at the very end of the hall, directly across from the room Enjolras was taken into. His heart sank; escape would be practically impossible now. Even if he could avoid whoever was in the actual room with him and dodge the first security guard, the second one could simply grab him. If he and Grantaire tried to run together, one of them might be able to take a chance, but Enjolras knew which one of them it would be, and he couldn’t leave Grantaire behind again.

Grantaire made a small sound as Enjolras pushed him into the room, and Enjolras looked up from his musings, worried what he would find. To his surprise, they found themselves in a bright, airy room, much larger than the one in the ICU. He also realized how messed up his sleep schedule must be, since it appeared to be the middle of the day and that meant he had slept all morning. It was little wonder everyone who watched them seemed tired, since they must have also been adhering to their bizarre schedule. Enjolras wondered dully what the punishment would be. 

There was a bed on one side of the room, slightly larger than the one they had been sharing previously. A curtain was pulled back behind it, but Enjolras could see from the rod that it could actually completely enclose the bed for privacy. There was another curtain rod, though it seemed the bed had been removed and replaced by a couple of couches, which were also larger than the one in the ICU.

Dr. Combeferre gestured for Enjolras to approach the bed and he did so. He was surprised to see that, true to their word, there was a veritable mountain of blankets piled at the foot, in a variety of weights and fabrics. Dr. Combeferre lowered the bedrail but thankfully didn’t touch Grantaire as Enjolras helped him climb in. Enjolras followed Grantaire up and then began to construct a blanket nest for them. It was a toss-up between whether they would be punished for using all the blankets or ignoring them and seeming ungrateful, so they might as well enjoy the comfort while they could.

Grantaire looked as tired as Enjolras felt, which meant he was actually even more tired than Enjolras was, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open as Enjolras buried him in blankets. Grantaire even let Enjolras press their sides firmly together and interlace their fingers once he was done arranging everything. Enjolras wanted to believe Grantaire had gotten over whatever had made him so sad earlier, though he knew deep down it was just exhaustion numbing out the emotion.

Éponine came up to the bed and reached up to grab the curtain when Enjolras finally settled down as well. She smiled softly. “Comfy?” Enjolras nodded in agreement, not bothering to lie since it was obvious. “Good. Jehan and I will be on the couch, but we’ll leave you be whenever you keep the curtain closed, alright? But we’re here if you need anything at all.” Enjolras nodded again, and Éponine drew the curtain shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I worked at a hospital, I was kind of creeped out by the sub-basement until I had to go to the second sub-basement, which seriously looked like some sort of horror/sci-fi Alien set, with pipes exposed and rats running around and giant signs letting you know you were 1000% screwed if there was a fire. Good times.
> 
> And I'm strongly considering doing a flashback chapter from Grantaire's perspective next. Yes or no? (I would say yes or yes? but I am legitimately curious if people prefer me to keep this from just Enjolras's POV.) It would significantly increase the R!angst but maybe decrease some of the mystery.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I, uh, did the thing and it turned into 5500 words of massive R!angst. (Seriously, if this is not enough R!angst for you, you are beyond my help.) I don't think it messed up the story like I was worried about. And hopefully it sounds different enough from the Enjolras chapters? I did my best, but I'm finding it hard to judge objectively since all the words originate from the same brain and I can only really hear myself when I read them. 
> 
> As a normally change-averse person, I'd appreciate your thoughts!

Grantaire sat huddled under Master’s desk, scrunched up as tightly in the corner as he could manage. Master had used to make him kneel the whole time but had eventually given up on the idea when it greatly reduced his ability to arrange his own legs. Now Grantaire was generally allowed to choose whatever position he wanted, though Master sometimes kicked him into a different one.

It was hard to keep track of time under the desk. Even when Master had the blinds open, his body filled up most of Grantaire’s vision and made it hard to judge the light. The only real marker of time was when Enjolras would come with Master’s lunch, though even that varied from day to day.

Usually Grantaire couldn’t see him, and Enjolras rarely spoke, since Master rarely addressed him, so Grantaire would stay very still and quiet and listen to Enjolras walking in, setting the dish down, and walking out. Sometimes Master would let Grantaire out in the afternoon, when he seemed to really need to focus, but most days this was the only time with Enjolras Grantaire would get until they were sent back to the crawlspace to sleep.

He knew it was really fucking creepy to obsess over this little bit of daily contact, but since Enjolras couldn’t see Grantaire under the desk, Grantaire indulged himself. (He regretted questioning Enjolras so insistently about whether he was completely hidden from view, as Enjolras was now convinced Master used him like this and tried to make his trips in and out as fast as possible. Master probably would use him like that, if Grantaire were more petite, but as it was, Grantaire had to crawl out quite far to make it work. Not that Grantaire would ever correct Enjolras’s assumption – he’d rather have his pity than his disgust.)

The afternoons were even more disorienting, since Grantaire usually cat-napped his way through them and lost all track of time. But no matter how tired and weary his insomnia made him, he forced himself to stay awake all morning until Enjolras came, afraid the quiet sounds wouldn’t be enough to wake him and he would miss it. 

But today it seemed like Enjolras was much later than usual, and Grantaire’s stomach was starting to hurt. Had Grantaire missed him somehow? Had Master simply ordered Enjolras to come later, or not at all? Was Enjolras hurting too badly to come? Grantaire’s stomach hurt even more thinking about the last possibility – Enjolras had taken a vicious beating two days ago with Master’s belt, buckle included, and Grantaire hadn’t been able to contrive a way to treat the wounds yet. (Enjolras seemed to think Grantaire magically found these opportunities. Grantaire would never correct this assumption either – Enjolras would surely be upset if he knew how much Grantaire groveled and pleaded with Master for them, and Grantaire knew, as melodramatic as it was, a part of him would wither and die if he lost his chance to get that close to Enjolras and help soothe his hurts.)

His worry started to spiral out of control as Enjolras still didn’t appear and Master started to get more agitated. Grantaire knew something terrible was going to happen.

He jumped when Enjolras finally knocked on the door and opened it. Grantaire held his breath as Enjolras set a plate on the desk. (Yes, Grantaire could now tell what type of dish it was just from the sound, he was that pathetic.) There was a distinct smell of bleach. Enjolras started to walk away and Grantaire almost thought that he really had just lost track of time, that Enjolras had just been given extra cleaning to do in the morning and he had implicit permission to bring lunch later.

Enjolras was halfway across the room when Master spun his chair around and purposely slid it back so Grantaire was totally trapped under the desk. Grantaire slowly lowered himself down to his side so that he could at least see Enjolras’s feet. “You’re late, boy.”

Enjolras didn’t turn around and remained silent, which meant he didn’t have an easy explanation for the delay. Grantaire wished he had the space to crawl out and do something, but he was stuck under the desk, a useless lump. The silence dragged on, the air tense.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Enjolras finally mumbled at the floor, voice raspy like he had been crying. Shit shit shit. It had taken a lot of training (which really just meant umpteen beatings and trips out in bad weather) but Enjolras had finally succumbed and addressed Master properly, virtually all the time. If Enjolras slipped and said sir instead of master, which had been the “comprise” word he had continued to push, it meant there was some crap in his brain causing him to regress. That wasn’t right – Grantaire was the one supposed to have crap in his head all the time. Enjolras was only supposed to have to endure the physical pain until Grantaire could patch him up.

Grantaire shuffled forward until he knew Master could feel him pressing against the chair. The smell of bleach grew stronger. Fuck.

Now Grantaire knew. Enjolras must have been scrubbing out the bathtub and had some kind of episode and lost track of time. (Grantaire wasn’t sure if it was technically a flashback or not, but all that mattered was Enjolras got incredibly upset and agitated when they happened because Grantaire was such a screw-up that he couldn’t even die properly and he had only succeeded in introducing Enjolras to the wonderful of mental illness by plowing him into it at about 100 MPH and making him miserable.) 

Master let out a heavy sigh, the kind Grantaire knew meant he was acting put out but really quite excited about what was coming next, and stood up, rummaging through one of the desk drawers. “It’s a shame. I was this close to giving Grantaire something to wear at night, but I can’t do that in good conscience when you’re being so bad.” There was a rustling as Master fiddled with what was in his hands, and Grantaire knew it was rope, there was nothing Master liked to do to Enjolras more than tie him up. (And of course Grantaire still hadn’t found a way to treat the rope burn, not without dressing the wounds, which would mean Enjolras would ask why Master allowed it and then he would know what Grantaire did and it would all fall apart, so Grantaire would just have to be taunted by the angry red marks until they wore off or were covered in a fresh layer.)

Grantaire heard Master walk over to Enjolras and begin to bind his hands. Enjolras must still be wandering in his memories, crying softly but not saying a word, submitting to the treatment. Grantaire hesitated. Intervening now could either slightly help or go horribly wrong, but his chest felt hollow listening to Enjolras like this and being reminded it was all his fault.

Now that Master was no longer sitting in the chair, Grantaire could easily push it aside. He crawled out from under the desk but kept his head low to the ground instead of kneeling up. Master must have been very intent on his task since he didn’t acknowledge Grantaire at all.

“Please, Master, don’t. It’s my fault,” Grantaire said more loudly than he normally would’ve dared but wanting to be sure Master’s attention would be attracted and thereby diverted from Enjolras. Master paused briefly and then did something, probably tightening the rope even further, that made Enjolras cry out in pain. Grantaire wanted to crawl back under the desk and hopefully find a giant hole had materialized there so he could crawl into that as well and never come back out.

“It’s my fault,” Grantaire tried again, louder, leaving the honorific off to provoke a reaction. Master sighed again, though in real annoyance this time, but he did come over to Grantaire, at least. Grantaire started to whimper when Master fisted his hair, drew him up, and promptly knocked all the air out of him with a crack across the face. Grantaire slumped to the side, wondering how Enjolras constantly took these blows, even as his own head spun. When his vision finally cleared, Master was putting the final touches on the rope now wrapped around Enjolras’s ankles. 

Enjolras’s head was bowed but Grantaire could tell immediately that he was crying. Master then tilted Enjolras’s chin up and gently fitted another length of rope in between his teeth, pushing his head down to knot it. From the sudden muffled whine Enjolras let out, Grantaire knew Master must be purposely twisting strands of his hair into the knots.

Master stood up when he finished, admiring his handiwork. When he turned to put the leftover rope back in the desk, Grantaire saw he was hard in his pants and swallowed. Master took his time and Grantaire knew he was enjoying the anticipation, drawing out the wait for them, forcing them to feel nothing but how he had all the control in the world over them.

Once he had finished, Master dragged Grantaire over to kneel in front of Enjolras, who was still making pained sounds and twisting his head around, trying to relieve the tension. Grantaire looked up at Master, pleading with his eyes, afraid asking out loud would humiliate Enjolras even more. Master smirked and palmed himself through his pants, clearly indicating what would happen to Grantaire if he proceeded.

(Grantaire didn’t care what happened to him. He could endure and drift and remember he had done something to make Enjolras feel better and it would be alright.)

He shuffled on his knees behind Enjolras and slowly lifted his hands to the other man’s hair. Enjolras continued to fidget in pain but was clearly trying to hold himself still for Grantaire. Grantaire tried to be as careful as possible as he pulled strands of hair from the rope. He doubted Master would give him enough time to finish, so he tackled the largest sections first. When he managed to finally remove an extremely twisted piece, Enjolras’s shoulders relaxed significantly and let out a muffled moan through the gag. 

Grantaire realized with horror that he was getting aroused. Objectively, Enjolras’s hair wasn’t even that nice to touch anymore and he didn’t smell particularly good either, but Grantaire’s brain was never good at judging Enjolras-related things objectively.

His fingers started to tremble and he slowed to a halt, unable to bring himself to touch Enjolras when he was in such a state, unable to imagine the betrayal in Enjolras’s eyes if he found out.

“Hmm, done already, slut?” Master asked, emphasizing the last word, smirk even larger, and Grantaire knew that he knew, and he knew that Grantaire knew, and Grantaire knew that he knew he knew, and fuck fuck fuck Grantaire was going to have to please Master so well all the time from now on to even have a hope he wouldn’t tell Enjolras. “I was going to let you finish, but if you’re not interested, that’s hardly my problem.” 

Master bent down and bodily hauled Enjolras over his shoulder, and Grantaire saw the hurt and confusion flash over Enjolras’s face as he was carried from the room. The alarm beeped off and the front door opened and closed. Grantaire had never even considered using these times to try to run, but he would’ve today, if only to see if there was a black hole nearby that would swallow him whole and erase his existence from the face of the world.

Grantaire sank so deep into his misery he didn’t even realize Master had returned until he was standing in front of him. Master watched him for a long time before nudging him back under the desk and sitting back down. Grantaire could hear him eating whatever Enjolras had made and typing at this keyboard like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, even though Grantaire saw he was still hard when he dared to look.

Grantaire knew this was all part of the game, knew Master got off on making him wait, but he still couldn’t calm himself down. He tried to doze, like he normally would, but every time he got close to drifting off, a hot flush of shame or a cold sluice of fear would run through him and he jerked back awake. He knew he needed to sleep, since there was a better chance the world would end that night than Enjolras would get brought back, which meant he would be awake all night.

The minutes crept by and eventually the room started to grow dim as the sun set, but Master still left Grantaire alone. Grantaire knew Master was no longer working when he stopped typing and started watching videos online instead, and suddenly Grantaire couldn’t stop his tears.

This would normally be when Master ordered Enjolras to make dinner but of course that wasn’t happening tonight because Grantaire had sucked stupidly perfect Enjolras into his orbit of failure and there was no chance he would be allowed to spend time with Enjolras and hope the other man might look at him and maybe squeeze his hand or touch his shoulder while he cooked and that couldn’t ever happen again anyway now that Grantaire couldn’t be trusted to give into his base desires while Enjolras was hurting and afraid and he was only hurting and afraid because of Grantaire and - 

“Suck me off, slut,” Master said, interrupting Grantaire’s thoughts but not whatever he was watching. Grantaire shuffled forward as Master rolled back enough to give him room to work. He was almost perversely pleased to have something to focus on and distract himself. 

Master let Grantaire do all the work, only reaching down to pull him off when got close, finishing across Grantaire’s face. Grantaire’s tears traced two tracks through the hot stripes of come. 

Master cleaned himself up and zipped his pants back up before nosing his foot in between Grantaire’s cock and balls. Grantaire froze, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying. “You don’t seem very interested, slut.”

“No, Master,” Grantaire whispered, almost biting his tongue as his teeth started to chatter. 

“I’m wounded,” Master said, sounding anything but. “Maybe I should let you play with my hair. Do you think that would do the trick?”

Grantaire remained silent until Master started to press down on his balls and whimpered, “No, Master.” The pressure eased off.

“And why is that?”

Grantaire broke down. His desire for Enjolras, in all its forms, was hardly a secret, but Master had never pushed him to admit it out loud before, confining himself to suggestive leers and innuendos that Enjolras either didn’t notice or didn’t understand. But Grantaire knew all of them knew, even Enjolras, because while Grantaire did his very best to keep his want inside his head and not spewing out of his mouth, Enjolras was neither blind nor stupid. But to admit to it would make it real. Grantaire couldn’t imagine any scenario where admitting his love for Enjolras wouldn’t taint the other man, but if there was one, it certainly didn’t involve him kneeling and weeping on the floor with another man’s come smeared across his face.

The room was totally dark by the time Grantaire had cried himself out. He slumped down, head pounding and eyes stinging. “Come clean me up,” Master ordered and Grantaire obeyed, even sicker with shame when he realized Master had gotten off again, watching Grantaire fall to pieces in front of him.

Master shoved him away when he was satisfied. “Go make me something to eat. Wash your hands first.” Grantaire would have anyway, but he understood the implication – leave your face the way it is. 

He stumbled into the kitchen and stared into the pantry with glazed eyes. Master did all the shopping, and Enjolras did all the cooking, and Grantaire had no idea what he would be expected to make. He had to do this before, sometimes, when Enjolras was being punished, but his mind felt foggy and jumbled. He settled on pasta finally, since it would be easy enough to make and there was enough of it that hopefully using some wouldn’t mess up whatever other meals Enjolras had planned to make.

While the water heated up, Grantaire wandered to the bathroom, unable to stop himself. Enjolras’s cleaning supplies were still out and scattered around, like he had realized partway through he was late with lunch and had quickly abandoned everything. Grantaire set about clearing everything away, hoping he could save Enjolras a little bit of trouble this way. He paused when he picked up the jug of bleach.

It would be so easy to drink some. 

Then Enjolras would never have to know what happened. Master would probably tell him, but Enjolras was so stubborn and so fucking pure he would almost surely believe it to be a lie. He probably couldn’t even begin to conceive of Grantaire’s feelings for him, and it was much better that way. It would be even better if it stayed that way.

The guilt would probably consume Enjolras, even though it shouldn’t because none of this was his fault. And he’d probably actually manage to get away, without Grantaire trailing after him like an anchor. He jumped when the smoke alarm started to whistle, spilling bleach all over the floor. He dropped the jug and scrambled back to the kitchen, where the pot had started to burn after the water boiled away. Master was already there, waving a stack of papers under the smoke alarm until it stopped wailing.

Grantaire felt rooted to the spot as Master approached him, too petrified to even drop to his knees. He knew he probably stank of bleach, and Master would know. Master did know and sent him to the floor with another vicious blow to the head and then began beating him in earnest. He was normally so careful to reserve this kind of physical abuse for Enjolras, but it seemed his fury now needed an outlet that sexual pleasure couldn’t provide. Grantaire tried to stay still and ride it out, wondering if Master would continue until he was dead.

He didn’t, but Grantaire honestly wished he had. Not in the same way he had wished for death while holding the bleach, not from the thought that both the world and Enjolras himself (and really what difference between the two was there, not much in his fucked up brain) would be better off if he removed himself, but just from the pure desire to make the pain stop.

Grantaire remained motionless on the floor for a long time, probably for at least a couple hours, though his mind was so drifty he couldn’t be sure. At some point, he was jerked up by his hair and made to crawl into the bedroom. (Well, he was just made to go the bedroom in general, it was the pain body that reduced him to staying on all fours.)

Grantaire wasn’t sure if it was a kindness or a cruelty when Master allowed him to lower himself into the crawlspace instead of just pushing him down. Master said nothing as he closed the lid and dragged the weights on top. Grantaire stayed where he was until the cold of the concrete seeped into his bones and he dragged himself over to their quilt.

He laid down but quickly found that every position was painful in its own way, but eventually he settled on his side, gazing at the blank patch of quilt Enjolras normally occupied. Unable to stop himself, Grantaire pulled the quilt over top of him and pressed it to his nose. The smell was somehow both stronger and fainter than before. It was horrible – Grantaire was horrible for even indulging in this. He would have to wash the quilt tomorrow morning so Enjolras would never know.

Grantaire managed to drift in and out of consciousness, though he startled each time he woke up and Enjolras wasn’t there. He limited their contact at night to touching knees and holding hands as they slept, except when Enjolras was similarly afflicted by insomnia and would kiss his forehead when he saw Grantaire was awake as well. (Grantaire catalogued each of these carefully in his mind like some kind of psycho and replayed them one by one in his mind some mornings while counting down the minutes until he would see Enjolras again. The guilt was almost overwhelming, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop since Enjolras always initiated it.)

When the crawlspace grew light (or, more accurately, less dim), Grantaire hauled himself to the opening, dragging the quilt behind him. He knelt there, afraid of what mood Master would be in this morning. His knees were throbbing when the lid was moved back, and Grantaire dared to look up, knowing the punishment for a quick glance wouldn’t be as bad as not knowing the best way to react. Master looked much calmer after a good night’s sleep. Grantaire hoped his extremely obvious erection was just regular morning wood (which a quick blowjob while Enjolras made breakfast would actually put Master in a fairly good mood, especially considering the minimal effort expended) and not the result of some early morning fantasizing (which, when fulfilled, put Master in a very good mood indeed, though the price was usually extremely steep.)

The slow smile that spread across Master’s face gave Grantaire a sinking feeling as he realized today it was the latter. “Up,” he ordered, and Grantaire wasn’t sure how he obeyed, but he did. “Why did you bring the quilt with?”

“It needs to be washed, Master,” and his voice sounded wrecked, even to himself. Grantaire gestured vaguely at his still-disgusting face, hoping that this would be a satisfactory explanation.

“Hmm, fair enough, I suppose. It does smell awful.” (Even in Grantaire’s fantasy world where Enjolras and everything he touched smelled like kittens and rainbows all the time, he had to admit the quilt was pretty rank.) “But before I let you do that, you have a choice to make. Do you want me to bring Enjolras back today or tomorrow?” Grantaire thought he might make the blanket even worse than before by vomiting all over it.

The answer was easy – of course he wanted Enjolras back as soon as possible. He couldn’t even convince himself it was selfish, since he knew how terrible it was for Enjolras to sit alone in the house next door, with no food or human warmth or any idea what was happening to Grantaire. (Grantaire knew that last bit only because Enjolras had told him repeatedly, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t get Enjolras to shake the guilt.) (And alright, it was 100% selfish to want Enjolras back, because Master couldn’t abuse or manipulate him when he was somewhere else and it would be much better for Enjolras to be safe.)

Grantaire bit the inside of his cheek before mumbling, “Today, Master.” Maybe he could drape the quilt over himself and Master would forget he was there.

“You don’t sound very sure. I’m not convinced that’s what you really want. I’m sure another day of cooling his heels will do him some good.” Master’s smirk was spreading again.

“No, please,” Grantaire pleaded, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Please bring him back today. I’m sorry. I promise that’s what I want.”

Master practically crowed with laughter. “Of course that’s what you want, slut. But these things don’t come free.” Grantaire shivered. “Think about him and get yourself off.”

Grantaire froze. How could he betray Enjolras like this? 

“You should’ve heard him crying when I shut him in yesterday,” Master goaded, almost sing-song. “I’m not sure if he’s more scared of what I’ll do to you or what you’ll do to yourself.” Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t matter if he thought Enjolras’s feelings about the whole thing were misguided – Enjolras still always got messed up when they were separated, and Grantaire had the chance to end it earlier. 

He shut his eyes and reached down to take himself in hand. He was torn between wanting to make himself feel as good as possible to end this as fast as possible and wanting to try to withhold all pleasure. “Take your time, slut,” Master soothed, so Grantaire sped his hand up. It had been so long since he had come (even if had the time and privacy to do so, their situation was hardly conducive to putting him in the mood) that he was getting close more quickly than he had expected. 

Master clicked his tongue and Grantaire slowed again. “I thought my orders were very clear. You need to need to actually think about him or he’ll be staying right where he is.” There was no way Master could know what was actually in Grantaire’s head, but he made himself obey, focusing on how Enjolras’s hair had felt in his hands and the sound of his moans as Grantaire freed it from the rope. It was over humiliatingly fast. 

Grantaire didn’t think he’d ever felt so dirty in his whole life. The yawning abyss in his chest made it impossible to even cry. He choked when Master suddenly forced his way into his mouth but forced himself to please, wanting nothing but for the ordeal to end. Master came quickly as well and stayed in Grantaire’s mouth until Grantaire had swallowed his come and suckled him clean.

He leaned down slightly to pet Grantaire’s hair when he finally pulled out. “So, so naughty,” he said, sounding breathless and almost high. “What would our Enjolras say if he knew?” This time Grantaire did vomit all over the quilt, wishing he could purge all his sadness the same way but knowing it was stuck too deeply in him to ever come out. 

Master wrinkled his nose and stopped gloating. “Clean this shit up before I get back.” Grantaire leaned against the wall as he hobbled to the laundry room, carrying the quilt bundled in his arms. He stopped at the linen closet and found a rag to wipe himself off with. When all the physical evidence of his shame had been cleaned away, he threw both of them into the wash. He would have to be very careful to make sure he got here before Enjolras did and asked him why there was a washcloth mixed in to the load.

On his way back to the living room, Grantaire went back to the linen closet and pulled out a few blankets, knowing Enjolras would appreciate the extra warmth and security. (Normally this is when Grantaire would shamelessly fantasize about him being the one to give that warmth and security himself instead of a blanket, but now just the thought of the thought made his skin crawl.) 

Grantaire made it to the living room just as Master hauled Enjolras through the door, still bound and gagged. Grantaire followed them to the bathroom and wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad when Master left them alone. Up close, he could see Enjolras had been crying and had dark circles under his eyes, like he had slept even less than Grantaire.

Ever since Grantaire’s first disastrous attempt, Master now kept everything sharp in the bathroom and kitchen in locked drawers, so Grantaire was forced to carefully pick at the knots, trying to balance speed with not hurting Enjolras anymore than he already was. He worked on his hands first, trying very hard not to notice how close they were and how hot Enjolras’s breath was on his neck when he leaned over. (He could save his massive shamefest for later when Enjolras was not falling apart. They could only really fall apart one at a time, and it probably wasn’t fair to Enjolras how often Grantaire hogged the limelight.)

He worked on Enjolras’s ankles next. Enjolras must have already been picking at his wrists, since these knots were a lot tighter. He just about flew through the ceiling when Enjolras awkwardly patted his shoulders, hands still undoubtedly numb. He stuck on the teeter-totter of happy and sad again when Enjolras withdrew them, trying to rub the feeling back. He made himself focus on the knots and nothing else.

Enjolras let out a sigh of relief when Grantaire finished, letting go off where he’d been unsuccessfully trying to untangle his gag to rub at them. Grantaire paused. He would have to talk to Master if he wanted anything sharp enough to cut through the rope (which meant he wouldn’t get anything), and if he didn’t undo the knots gently, he’d probably end up ripping some of Enjolras’s hair out. He knew this was probably The Point of the Exercise, but he still felt dizzy when he knelt behind Enjolras again, unable to fully separate the then and the now. Enjolras seemed oblivious, sitting still for Grantaire to work and trying to minimize his involuntary movements whenever Grantaire hurt him. (Because of course Grantaire hurt him, because that’s just what Grantaire did.)

Enjolras tumbled around once he was finally free and grabbed Grantaire’s face gently in his hands, which had started to return to their normal color. It felt like Enjolras was staring inside him, and Grantaire wanted to curl up and die. (Enjolras honestly could probably just look vaguely in Grantaire’s direction with his eyes closed and still see how depraved he was.)

Instead, he just whispered, “Grantaire, what happened?” He sounded terribly sad, but of course he was sad because the one person he could maybe sort of hope to maybe sometimes count on had let him down. Grantaire looked away, glad he at least puked everything up earlier so he didn’t hurl all over Enjolras now. “Grantaire, you’re hurt.”

Grantaire had honestly forgotten about his beating yesterday, he had been so focused on comforting Enjolras. He shrugged. Telling Enjolras all the details while they were still in the bathroom seemed like a spectacularly bad idea, even by his standards. “Master was angry.”

Now Enjolras looked down. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I wasn’t even trying this time. It just – it just-”

Grantaire reached for Enjolras’s hands to make him stop saying all the words Grantaire should be saying instead. The guilt almost stopped him, but they already did this most nights, so he knew Enjolras must enjoy it on some level. He started to rub them gently to help the feeling come back. He stopped after a minute to wrap Enjolras in the blankets but started up again after Enjolras made a sad little sound at the loss. They sat quietly for awhile until Enjolras shifted. “He’s left us alone a long time.”

Of course Master had, to make sure Grantaire had plenty of time to sit with his shame and dwell on it. The washer went off at some point, but neither of them moved. Grantaire knew he really should stop massaging Enjolras’s hands now, but he didn’t. Finally, Enjolras pulled his hands away on their own and tentatively stood up, holding onto the counter until he was sure he could feel his feet properly. 

“I should go apologize,” he said softly, “I don’t want him to hurt you again.” Grantaire thought he was going to spontaneously combust.

“No, go make something for him to eat. I’ll go.”

Enjolras watched warily before helping Grantaire to his feet. He suddenly leaned forward and kissed Grantaire’s forehead ever so gently, and now Grantaire really was going to die now. “I missed you,” Enjolras whispered. Grantaire wished he knew how to take away Enjolras’s guilt.

He forced himself to smile slightly and then limped to Master’s office. He turned around when Grantaire opened the door but didn’t seem surprised. “He’s making food, Master,” Grantaire offered hurriedly.

“Mmm. I presume he’s going to apologize when he’s done?” 

Grantaire stared at his feet. “No, Master. I – I told him not to. It’s my fault. He only lost track of time because of – because of-”

“Because you’re pathetic?”

“Yes, Master. Please don’t punish him anymore.”

Enjolras chose this moment to appear in the doorway, holding a plate of food with a mixture of breakfast and lunch foods, clearly trying to split the difference. Master waved him over and took the plate without taking his eyes off Grantaire.

“Go clean the bathroom, boy.” Enjolras faltered but then shuffled out, shoulders slumped.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously unrelated to this fic (sort of), but I need to vent. I got The Novel of the Century (new nonfiction book about the creative journey Les Mis went on) from the library and immediately went to the index to find the obviously required bit about how E/R are, you know, meant to be. (Don't lie and tell me you would've done anything different.) But nope. Enjonine (!!!) was in the index, but not an Enjoltaire in sight. The section is question literally references AO3 but the only E/R mention was a coffeeshop!AU where they "discover they are gay." I almost threw the book out the window. (And no offense to anyone who likes the Enjolras/Eponine pairing, I just think we can all agree it gets lost in the E/R Sea.) (Also, to be fair, the author looks like a cute little grandpa, who would be probably disintegrate if he ever saw what we write, so I have this mental image of his grad student panicking and trying to find something acceptable to present to her boss.)
> 
> Now back to our regularly scheduled angst!programming. Shout-out to the construction workers who already caused two power outages at my office this week, giving me lots of time to write on my phone!

Enjolras drifted awake. He could hear low voices coming from the other side of the curtain, though he couldn't pick out who they belonged to. He turned his head and was relieved to see Grantaire was still asleep. The other man had rolled to his side and Enjolras was tempted to move to face him, but the thought of turning his back to everyone else in the room made his spine prickle. 

Enjolras wondered if he should open the curtain now that he was awake, but he hated the thought of subjecting Grantaire to any unnecessary scrutiny. He moved his hand to the one Grantaire had partially outstretched from habit and then sat perfectly still. 

Enjolras had no idea how long he had been asleep. The room was dimmer than before, but it didn't seem dark enough to be night, rather like it was storming outside. He listened carefully but couldn't hear anything beyond the soft voices. That most likely meant it was snowing. 

Enjolras’s stomach flip-flopped at the thought. He had no idea what was going to happen now that he and Grantaire had left the protective bubble of the ICU, but it seemed only logical he would soon be punished for all his disobedience. When they had been moved to the general ward, all Enjolras could think of was making sure he and Grantaire weren't separated, but now his rashness seemed especially foolish. Dr. Combeferre thought he had been much weaker than he really was, too weak to walk the whole way, but Enjolras had disproved that notion. Dr. Combeferre, and maybe Dr. Joly as well, had probably been protecting him in their own way while he recovered, and now that protection would be revoked. Enjolras tried to take deep breaths to keep the panic at bay. 

It wasn't as if he had never been sent out in the snow before. In fact, if given a choice, Enjolras would always pick snow over cold rain. As long as he could keep his hands and feet warm, he would be alright, especially if he wasn’t forced to give up any of his clothing first. The trick would just then be to wipe all the snow off when he was finally allowed back in before it could start melting in earnest. 

Enjolras hadn't realized how long he had been lost in thought until he turned again and saw Grantaire watching him. He realized he had been twisting Grantaire’s fingers in his own and the pain had woken him. Enjolras tried to withdraw his hand but Grantaire caught his wrist before he could pull away. 

Grantaire stared at him intensely before finally mouthing, What's wrong? 

Enjolras shook his head, only for Grantaire to give him a look that Enjolras knew meant the other man didn't believe him for a second. 

Enjolras hesitated. Grantaire was likely going to cause a scene if he knew Enjolras was going to be punished, especially if it was for something Grantaire felt responsible for, and the last thing Enjolras wanted was for Grantaire to either be hurt or hurt himself in the ensuing struggle. Enjolras was honestly surprised the other man hadn't already come to the same conclusion about the inevitable consequences for Enjolras’s behavior yet, but perhaps Grantaire’s memory was so jumbled and foggy that he didn't realize just how bad Enjolras had been.

Grantaire gave him a gentle but insistent nudge and Enjolras raised his free hand and tried to mime snow falling. Grantaire frowned, so Enjolras jerked his head towards the window and repeated the gesture. It took Grantaire a moment to process this, but then he withdrew his hand and turned abruptly away. Enjolras knew Grantaire had worked it out all the way when Grantaire went very tense. 

Grantaire stayed like that for a long time, and Enjolras wasn't sure if he was even still awake when the other man flipped back over and started trying to aggressively bundle Enjolras back up in his blankets. Enjolras managed to grab his hands but Grantaire had the advantage of adrenaline. Enjolras tried to glare at Grantaire, starting to panic about how much noise they were making, but the other man was unfazed.

“Knock knock,” said Dr. Joly softly from the other side of the curtain, and Enjolras was so startled he dropped Grantaire’s hands. Grantaire recovered quickly and finally managed to tuck the blanket on top of the pile around Enjolras’s shoulders. “Can I come in?” Dr. Joly asked and Enjolras squirmed a shaking arm free to draw the curtain back. 

Dr. Joly seemed briefly taken aback and Enjolras felt himself flush. What must it look like they been doing, with the muffled sounds and the blankets rumpled and out of place around Grantaire? But Dr. Joly quickly adopted a more neutral expression. “I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but Grantaire needs to take his next dose of antibiotics now.” 

Grantaire went stiff beside Enjolras and then reached up to cover the sides of his neck, shaking and whimpering quietly. Enjolras grabbed Grantaire around the shoulders, even as he felt sick. Dr. Combeferre had seemed to imply they wouldn't force Grantaire to take any more of the pain medication, but he might not have told to Dr. Joly that or he might have simply been lying. 

Dr. Joly frowned and looked over his shoulder, though Enjolras hadn't opened the curtain far enough to see who he was looking at. There was a rustling and then Éponine appeared next to Dr. Joly. Enjolras looked up at her, trying to beg with his eyes. 

Her face spasmed but then Éponine controlled herself and touched Dr. Joly’s shoulder gently. “You need to explain about the IV.”

Dr. Joly’s face fell. “Oh, R, I promise we won't give you any more of the pain medication, alright? Combeferre told me you had a bad reaction. I was going to ask if you would prefer an IV in your arm for your antibiotics or if you want to switch to taking them orally?” Grantaire continued to shake and Enjolras didn't let go. Dr. Joly jumped, and Enjolras imagined Éponine must have jabbed him, and he quickly continued, “But I see the idea of an IV is probably too distressing. Éponine is going to get you something to eat, and I’m going to go down to the pharmacy to get your pills.”

Grantaire slowly stopped shaking after Dr. Joly left, and Enjolras gently stroked his neck until he finally calmed down completely. Éponine must have left and come back in the meantime, because she was now holding a laminated sheet. “OK, so Dr. Cosette seems to feel the point of this exercise is to empower you by letting you choose what you want for dinner.” She flicked over the sheet. “And Dr. Joly wants me to get you each a children’s meal, but Dr. Éponine is going to go out on a limb here and guess both of those things would be extremely stressful.”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who was now staring down at his lap, motionless. He looked back at Éponine and nodded, feeling oddly relieved. The thought of being forced to make a choice when he already had so much to answer for would've been overwhelming. Enjolras supposed Éponine could be setting him up to fail, but that didn't seem like her style. 

“Will you eat grilled cheese and tomato soup?” Éponine asked. Grantaire continued to stare at his lap, so Enjolras nodded for both of them. “Alright, I'll go order it. I think it'll be a half hour or so.” She walked away and Enjolras wormed his hand around under the blankets until he found Grantaire’s. He gave a tentative squeeze but Grantaire ignored him. 

They sat like that while they waited for their food, Enjolras squeezing Grantaire’s hand gently every so often, though Grantaire never responded. He wasn't sure what had upset Grantaire like this; the timing would indicate it was Éponine, but that didn't make any sense. Enjolras knew it could change at any time, but she had yet to do anything besides defend and protect them from everyone else. 

Enjolras could now hear voices coming from the hallway that he didn't recognize and then a man wheeled in a cart with a covered tray while Éponine opened the curtain all the way. The man paused, looking at them with a puzzled expression, and Enjolras felt hot shame pool in his stomach. 

Some part of his mind recognized that it wasn't exactly normal for two grown men to be sharing a hospital bed, and his terror began to build. Dr. Joly had said something about getting special permission for Enjolras and Grantaire to stay together, but what would happen if other hospital employees started to complain? 

Éponine stood in front of the bed, obscuring them from view. “Is something wrong?” she asked, in a tone that suggested that everything would go much smoother if nothing was wrong. 

“Just that I'm not a mind reader, ma’am. The tickets only come with a name and a bed number.”

“Oh, that's fine then. I can take it,” Éponine offered, much friendlier now, as if that were a reasonable explanation, pushing the tray attached to the bed over to the middle and putting the food on it. 

Enjolras frowned. Did the delivery man simply not know which of them was which? But then why wouldn't he have simply asked? Enjolras pulled his free hand out and twisted his wrist until he could see what was printed on his hospital band. Instead of his actual name, it read: Doe, John. 

He pulled his and Grantaire’s joined hands out and felt a pang in his chest when Grantaire neither aided or resisted the movement. He spun Grantaire’s band around and saw he was also identified as John Doe. No wonder the man bringing their food had been confused.

Éponine bustled back over with two large transparent cups and paused after setting them down. “That's how you came in from the first hospital, and Combeferre and Joly thought it would be best to protect your privacy. But they obviously pulled your real medical records, so your care isn't affected.” She hesitated. “That's part of why we're concerned someone was able to leak your whereabouts to the press. Almost no one has seen you, and the police are satisfied it was none of the hospital staff.” She shook her head and began dividing the bowl of soup between the cups until they were equal.

“I know this is going to sound patronizing, but I promise you don't need to worry about it. The security guards have a list of who's allowed in, and I'm pretty sure Bahorel asked for a bed to be kept open in case he needs to dismember anyone who tries to sneak by.” She carefully cut the sandwich into triangles. “Eat up.” 

Enjolras started reaching for his portion of the sandwich but stopped when he noticed Grantaire still hadn't moved. He gently bumped him with his shoulder, to no effect. Éponine stepped away to the sink, her back to them as she washed her hands, and Grantaire suddenly came out of his trance, grabbing his cup and pouring as much of his own soup into Enjolras’s as he would fit.

Enjolras reached out to stop him but paused, not wanting to spill the hot soup and burn Grantaire. He looked desperately over at Éponine, who was drying her hands. She turned around and then looked terribly sad when she saw what Grantaire was doing. 

She went over to Grantaire’s side of the bed and crouched down to their level. “R, can you look at me please?” Grantaire froze, hands hovering above the food. He moved his head slightly so he could see Éponine from the corner of his eye. 

“Grantaire, I'm sure Enjolras really appreciates that you want him to have extra food, but there's no need for you to do that anymore. If Enjolras is still hungry, I can just call down and get more food.” Grantaire’s face twitched, and Enjolras could see he was biting the inside of his cheek. “R, I'm sure this is a lot to take in after everything you've been through, but I promise I can get Enjolras whatever he needs.”

Grantaire’s whole body twitched this time, as he looked furtively between Enjolras and Éponine. His lower lip started to tremble and before Enjolras could react, Grantaire had flipped himself onto his stomach and began sobbing into his pillow. Enjolras reached for his arm, but Grantaire just shrugged him off and started to wail louder, louder than Enjolras had ever heard him cry before, even muffled as it was. 

He again tried to touch Grantaire and was again shrugged off. 

Just as Grantaire started to cough violently, Dr. Joly came back in, holding a bottle of pills. “What's going on?” he asked. Once more Enjolras tried to touch Grantaire, with the same success as before. He was terrified Grantaire would be forcibly sedated again. Grantaire’s nightmares were so upsetting he had actually brought them up, and Enjolras couldn’t imagine what was not quite scary enough to talk about but frightening enough to upset Grantaire to this degree.

“I told Grantaire he didn’t have to share his food anymore. You can say ‘I told you so’ later,” Éponine added, as Dr. Joly surveyed the single plate and single bowl. 

Dr. Joly watched Grantaire for a long moment, occasionally looking at Enjolras. “I think this is something Cosette will need to handle.” He took a deep breath, and it looked like he was struggling to maintain a neutral expression. Enjolras wished desperately that he could find his voice; he didn’t want to wait for Mistress Fauchelevent to come and wished he could beg Dr. Joly to just beat him now and be done with it. “Enjolras,” Dr. Joly said, and Enjolras flinched, “if we leave you alone, do you think you’ll be able to calm Grantaire down? He needs to stop coughing, and I don’t want to put him through the stress of sedation again.”

Enjolras nodded furiously. He had no idea how he would get through to Grantaire, but if Grantaire wasn’t even letting Enjolras touch him, he probably wasn’t going to respond to one of the masters talking to him anyway. 

“Alright, Éponine and I are going to wait in the hall.” Dr. Joly hesitated. “We’ll poke our heads back in when it sounds like Grantaire has calmed down. It’s important you get him to eat at least some of his food so he can take his antibiotics.” He opened the pill bottle and shook one onto the tray. “Have him take this when he’s ready.”

Dr. Joly left, trailed by Éponine, who looked back at them and seemed close to tears herself, though she left without saying anything else. 

Enjolras drew the curtain shut, wanting some privacy if they came back in sooner than Grantaire could handle. He kicked the blankets down and knelt up so that he could have a little more leverage. Grantaire was still alternating between sobbing and coughing into his pillow and had now bunched himself up in the fetal position.

Enjolras paused and bit his lip. He hated the idea that anything he tried might only distress Grantaire further. Finally, not knowing what Dr. Joly’s time limit was, he leaned down to touch Grantaire’s neck. When Grantaire tried to shake him off, Enjolras pressed more insistently, until Grantaire freed one of his hands to try to push Enjolras away. Enjolras grabbed it and refused to let go, glad he was still the stronger one, for now.

Grantaire opened his mouth as if to speak and then curled up again as a fit of coughing overtook him. Enjolras took the chance to press his hand firmly. “Grantaire, please, you’re going to make yourself sick. You need to calm down.” Grantaire’s tears simply restarted in earnest. Enjolras rubbed at his eyes. There had to be something he could say.

He made himself take deep breaths, trying to focus and push everything else from his mind. This had all started because Grantaire hadn’t be allowed to give Enjolras more than his fair share of the food. Despite the other man’s vehement denials, Enjolras had long suspected Grantaire ate less than him but confronting him only made Grantaire horribly upset, while ignoring it seemed to make him happy. Enjolras tried to soothe his conscience by stealing for Grantaire, a gift the other man couldn’t refuse, though Enjolras couldn’t know if it evened the score.

Enjolras supposed he could eat all of the food Éponine had ordered, but it seemed like more than he could feasibly consume in one sitting, and Enjolras also suspected the damage to Grantaire’s psyche by being denied couldn’t be fixed so easily. Dr. Joly would also want to make sure Grantaire took his medicine and would obviously be suspicious if Grantaire threw it back up. But how to get Grantaire to comply?

“Grantaire, please calm down,” Enjolras tried again, stroking Grantaire’s knuckles with his thumb for good measure. Grantaire ignored him. Enjolras closed his eyes and steeled himself. “Grantaire, I need you to calm down. For me.”

It was horribly manipulative and cruel, but, as if by magic, Grantaire began to struggle to slow his tears. Enjolras began to take deliberate, slow breaths, as much to calm himself as anything. “Grantaire, can you try breathing like me?”

Again, like magic, Grantaire began to comply. The first few times Grantaire got close to matching Enjolras, he hiccupped and the sobs returned, but he finally quieted, though his breath was ragged and harsh. Enjolras bent down to lightly kiss his exposed temple. “I’m really proud of you, Grantaire,” he dared to say. Grantaire’s mouth flickered in the smallest smile, and his eyes drifted close.

Enjolras let out a breath, tension draining from his body, now that the danger had passed. When no one came in immediately, he felt safe to let Grantaire rest for a few minutes. He wondered if it would be worth asking for more ibuprofen, as he imagined Grantaire must have a splitting headache, as well as pain in his chest. It seemed highly unlikely his request would be granted, given how much trouble they had caused, but Éponine had seemed upset; Enjolras resolved to ask her for some when Dr. Joly left.

“Grantaire, I need you to sit up and eat for me now.” Enjolras hated this, hated ordering Grantaire like this, but he hated the thought of something worse happening if he didn’t even more. Once again, the other man complied without resistance. Enjolras felt a pang in his chest when he saw how bloodshot and puffy Grantaire’s eyes were. While Grantaire settled himself into a better position, Enjolras poured soup back into Grantaire’s cup, until the levels were once again equal.

Grantaire remained motionless, and Enjolras remembered the earlier incident with the juice, so he began to eat his own food and was relieved when Grantaire did as well, even if his movements did seem stiff and mechanical. Enjolras finished first and then picked up the bottle of antibiotics, studying the label while Grantaire continued to eat. He didn’t necessarily recognize the name, but he did seem to be able to recall an association with it from the depths of his memory, and Enjolras felt satisfied enough that it was what Dr. Joly had said it was.

When Grantaire had a little soup left, Enjolras gave him the loose pill. Grantaire hesitated until Enjolras smiled at him and then took it. He leaned back against the bed, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes. 

Enjolras started fussing with the blankets. They probably didn’t have much time left. “I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you,” he ventured, trying to find an acceptably neutral starting point.

“It’s fine. I was being naughty and not listening,” Grantaire said to the ceiling. Enjolras felt that pang again. “I know you would never actually touch me.”

Enjolras paused, not entirely sure how to interpret Grantaire’s last statement. Knowing Grantaire, there were probably multiple layers. He said nothing while smoothing the last blanket into place. “Is it alright if I play with your curls some more?” 

Grantaire’s eyes lit up briefly but then went dim again. “If it would make you feel better.” 

“Would it make you feel better?”

Grantaire closed his eyes, and Enjolras knew he was losing the bit of ground he had gained. He hated to proceed without Grantaire’s explicit consent, but the other man had seemed to enjoy it earlier, so Enjolras let his hand drift slowly to the other man’s hair, giving Grantaire plenty of time to pull away. Grantaire remained still and he did seem to relax slightly as Enjolras wrapped curl after curl around his finger.

“Do you think you could try to explain what upset you so much?” Enjolras finally asked, hearing voices in the hall. He had little concept of how much time had passed, but it seemed like theirs was almost up. “Please, Grantaire. I – I hate to see you so…distraught.”

Grantaire swallowed hard. “No.” Enjolras started to protest, but Grantaire’s eyes flew open. “I – I can’t,” and when Grantaire’s voice cracked so did Enjolras’s heart. 

He hushed Grantaire, and now the voices in the hall were audible. 

“What do you mean he’s not on the list?” a woman was asking, though it wasn’t Éponine.

“Ma’am, I have very strict instructions on who can come in, and he’s not on the list,” said a male voice Enjolras could only imagine belonged to the security guard. 

“He’s my partner,” said Dr. Joly and the woman said at the same time, both indignant. There was a pause.

“OK, just my personal recommendation, but if you’re going to lie, it helps to get your story straight beforehand.”

Éponine started to swear, but she was cut off mid-curse and there came a brief scuffle. “Éponine,” said a different male voice, slightly strained, like he was holding her back, but not really upset, “it’s fine. I can just wait in the lobby until it’s all sorted out. I don’t want to stress them out at all.”

“No, fuck that, Bossuet. You’re their friend too. You shouldn’t have to wait in the fucking lobby just because someone couldn’t pull their head out of their ass long enough to make a proper list.”

There were more footsteps. “Is there a problem here?” Mistress Fauchelevent asked sweetly, probably just arriving on the scene. 

“Oh, Dr. Pontmercy, it’s nice to see you,” said the security guard, suddenly much more pleasant. Enjolras frowned and even Grantaire twitched next to him. Why were they calling Mistress Fauchelevent by a different last name? Enjolras was sure he had recognized her, so it seemed like she must be Master Pontmercy’s wife? His head hurt when he tried to think of her with a different name, the other had been ground into him so thoroughly.

“This asshole won’t let Bossuet in,” Éponine snapped, still riled up.

“Is that so?” Mistress Fauchelevent asked, still sounding polite.

“Well, he’s not on the list, and then they both tried to say he was their partner.” Enjolras supposed the guard must be gesturing at Dr. Joly and the unknown woman.

“Well, yes, they would say that,” Mistress Fauchelevent replied pleasantly. 

There was a much longer pause. “Uh, well, the list, you see-”

“If their word isn’t good enough, I’m sure my father would be happy to call the board and get this cleared up.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” The guard laughed nervously. “That’s not really necessary. I’m sure it was a simple mistake. I hope you all have a nice visit.”

“We will, thank you,” Mistress Fauchelevent, tone still completely even.

The door open and Enjolras quickly opened the curtain. Éponine had really only said it was for sleeping, and he didn’t want to get in trouble for having it shut while they were awake. 

Éponine stomped in, arms folded across her chest, though she shook herself and visibly relaxed when she saw Enjolras watching her. Next came Dr. Joly, followed by Mistress Musichetta and Master Lesgle, who was holding a cardboard box with bits of snow still clinging to it. Mistress Fauchelevent walked in last, closing the door softly behind her.

Dr. Joly took the box and brought it over to the bed while everyone else hung back. Enjolras could smell the wet cardboard as the doctor approached and he felt something stir in his mind, like he was trying to remember a word he had forgotten. Dr. Joly balanced the box on the bedrail, and Enjolras couldn’t take his eyes from it.

“Are you feeling better, Grantaire?” he asked. Grantaire must have nodded, because Dr. Joly smiled and said, “That’s good, I’m very glad to hear it.” Why couldn’t Enjolras stop looking at the box?

“Dear, I think should explain about the box before Enjolras explodes,” Mistress Musichetta said, not unkindly.

Dr. Joly looked down at the box like he had momentarily forgotten about it. “Oh, yes. Musichetta and Bossuet brought some of your things that they thought might make you more comfortable.” The words made no sense to Enjolras, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care, still trying to connect the strange sensation the box was giving him to an actual memory.

“Combeferre did a really good job organizing everything in storage, so if there’s something specific you want, we should be able to find it. And of course we’ll take everything else to wherever you’re staying once you’re discharged,” Mistress Musichetta added.

“Here, why don’t you take a look? It’s not very heavy,” and Dr. Joly handed the box to Enjolras. Enjolras stared at it, as if it might start talking and explain what was happening.

“I’m sorry it got a little wet in the snow,” Master Lesgle said, misinterpreting Enjolras’s reactions. “I dropped the plastic bin we had everything in so we had to repack it. We did our best to keep it dry though.” 

Enjolras realized he needed to do something before all the masters thought he was being ungrateful. Grantaire drew his knees up to make room on the foot of the bed, and Enjolras set it as his feet, fingers sinking into the wet patches, and he looked up.

And then he remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I realize Cosette is probably a bit too young to already have her PhD in psychology to be a therapist, but let's pretend she was ahead of schedule because she's so smart. (I didn't want her to be the only Ami still stuck in school, especially since she's one of the few ladies around!) 
> 
> I was planning to have Grantaire switch to oral antibiotics for emotional purposes anyway, but when I asked Dr. Google, apparently that's the recommended the practice for pneumonia patients once they're stabilized, so points for me! 
> 
> Also, I was 99.9% sure Lesgle had another "s" in it, but the Les Mis Wiki assured me it did not. 
> 
> And I promise I am sorry for the cliffhanger...I will write the next chapter as soon as I can.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long-ish wait for this chapter! Hopefully the extra long length makes up for it. :)
> 
> I really got wild and did the first part of the chapter from Grantaire's perspective because I thought it worked better that way, but I promise we switch to Enjolras and find out what happened. I would not be a monster and leave my cliffhanger unresolved!

Grantaire limped down the hallway but bit down hard on his cheek so that he was walking normally (or what he hoped was normally enough that Enjolras wouldn’t comment and by comment he meant give him A Look and by A Look he meant that weird flash of despair Enjolras sometimes showed when Grantaire couldn’t manage to hide what had happened properly because of course Grantaire couldn’t) by the time he got to the kitchen. He bit his cheek harder. What was wrong with him today? Hadn’t he had purposely offered to please Master so that he would be sent away earlier to have more time with Enjolras? (That’s what was wrong with him.)

Of course, because Grantaire had actually tried (for once), Enjolras wasn’t there. Grantaire hesitated – he could run and find Enjolras like a lovesick puppy (because once again that’s exactly what’s wrong with him) or he could wait patiently in the kitchen for whenever Enjolras had finished the last of his chores. Grantaire shuffled out. He could pretend he just wanted to help Enjolras, even though he knew perfectly well Enjolras would refuse his help and Enjolras would know that Grantaire already knew that was the guaranteed outcome but he would probably pretend like he didn’t and let Grantaire just sit quietly in his presence because Enjolras let him do that for some reason. 

Grantaire went from room to room, worry knotting in his chest when Enjolras was nowhere to be found. Had Master confined him next door as punishment and that’s why he had been so willing to listen to Grantaire earlier? No, Grantaire had never heard the alarm beep, so that couldn’t be it. (It was harder and harder to remember things and assign them to the right day in his mind, but hearing that alarm always made him feel chilled and sick. If that had happened today, he would remember, because he would’ve spent the rest of the day after feeling like his insides were shredding themselves to pieces.)

The cottage was hardly big enough that Grantaire wouldn’t have seen or heard Enjolras bypass him, but as Grantaire went back to the kitchen, he still hoped the other man would’ve magically appeared there in his brief absence. It was still empty.

Grantaire tried to take deep breaths to keep the panic from overwhelming him all at once (it was coming either way but it was better if it came in smaller increments) and lowered himself slowly to his knees. He could go to Master, but either he had somehow moved Enjolras without turning off the alarm and was just waiting to gloat (highly unlikely) or he would be equally confused by Enjolras’s absence and take it out on Enjolras when he found him (very likely). 

Then came the horrible thought that Enjolras had somehow left, left without warning, left without Grantaire – again. Grantaire knew this was nothing if not irrational – if he was confident Master couldn’t have taken Enjolras away, there wasn’t another plausible way for Enjolras to have left by himself – but now here came the panic all in one giant wave. Grantaire wrapped his arms around himself and bit back a sob until all that came out was a small whimper.

It was answered by a soft sound from the other side of the island.

Grantaire was instantly on his feet (and then instantly regretted it, barely catching himself on the edge of the island) and hobbled around to the other side. Enjolras was kneeling there, head lolling against a cabinet door, eyes fluttering. Grantaire dropped to his knees beside him and could already feel how warm he was despite the space between them. Grantaire raised a tentative hand to Enjolras’s forehead and it almost hurt with how hot it was.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras mumbled, eyes opening only briefly. He paused like he needed to consciously gather his strength to speak. “Need to make dinner,” he finally managed.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck.

Why hadn’t Grantaire kept his big mouth shut (both literally and figuratively)? Master had been in a good enough mood to indulge Grantaire (and himself, but Grantaire couldn’t hear the reason for the shame of having once again fucked up so badly) and what had Grantaire done? That’s right, he had blown it (ha, would you look at that, once again, both literally and figuratively) on his own selfish desires when he should’ve waited to take advantage of that goodwill later, when it could have be used to bargain for protection for Enjolras. But Enjolras hadn’t even made an effort to get up, so it seemed like the best Grantaire could do to atone was damage control.

Grantaire shifted into a squat and managed to raise Enjolras to his own feet but found he lacked the strength to actually pick the other man up. He got his arm under Enjolras’s shoulders and Enjolras let himself be led towards the hallway before trying to pull away. It took a real effort for Grantaire to keep a hold of him, but mostly to prevent Enjolras from sinking back to the floor rather than returning to the kitchen. “No. Dinner,” Enjolras repeated, quiet.

Grantaire hushed him. “Yes, I’ll get you dinner. You just need to come with me first.” 

Enjolras didn’t protest at Grantaire’s twisting of his words, and he once again stumbled along. Grantaire opened the door to the guest room as quietly as he could and brought Enjolras to the corner with a heating vent, pushing the lever open with his foot. The room was chilly now but would heat up quickly enough. Grantaire eased Enjolras to the ground, and the other man curled up in slow motion. “Everything hurts,” he whimpered.

Grantaire hushed him again. “I know, I know. I’ll be right back with some blankets in just a minute.” Enjolras let out another soft sound in response. 

Grantaire left the room for the linen closet. He briefly debated warming the blankets in the dryer first, but the noise would surely attract Master’s attention. (His go-to plan of begging and pleading and offering himself up worked much better when implemented proactively, Grantaire had discovered, through much trial and error.) He had just extended his hand to open the closet door when Master appeared, smirking. (And the fucking up continued.)

“Care to tell me why I don’t smell any dinner cooking, slut?” Master asked, crowding into Grantaire’s space. But he was still smirking – he must not have heard Grantaire shepherding Enjolras around and come to investigate after all. (This would have to go on the very short list of Things Grantaire Had Managed Not to Fuck Up.) 

But before Grantaire could offer up a half-assed (or quarter-assed or eighth-assed, the math didn’t matter as long as it worked) explanation, Master’s expression grew dark. “Why are you going to the linen closet?” (Ah, there it was, the fucking up, just a little late for its cue this time.)

Grantaire dropped his hand to his side and his gaze to the ground. “Enjolras is sick, Master,” he whispered. Grantaire didn’t even need to look up to know how angry Master was – he hadn’t even bothered to punish him for his disobedience.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” and this was oh so dangerous now because Master was practically flinging rope at Grantaire to hang himself (and therefore Enjolras) with.

Grantaire swallowed. “Last time, you – the blankets – it helped-”

“And since when did that mean you had my permission to do it every time poor little Enjolras came down with a case of the sniffles?” Grantaire wished for a moment that Enjolras had really been gone and then he could will himself to disappear and no one would have to feel guilty and the world would honestly be a better place except not really because Enjolras wouldn’t be in it anymore and the good of Enjolras far outweighed the bad of Grantaire that it wasn’t even a contest but-

Grantaire came out of his panic spiral when he realized Master had walked away to the guest room without another word. Grantaire shuffled after him as quickly he could manage. Master was leaning against the doorway, but when Grantaire approached, he filled the space and blocked Grantaire out. He let Grantaire suffer in silence for what felt like an eternity, before finally saying, “If you had asked me nicely, I would’ve considered it,” like he would have but Grantaire knew he probably would have denied permission but now there would always be that nagging doubt that maybe the request would’ve been granted. Asking Master for something was like Schrödinger’s cat, except if you burnt the box to ashes before looking in it and the person who claimed to have put the cat in it in the first place was a pathological liar that probably had never even seen a cat in his life.

Grantaire opened his mouth, ready to beg, because just because the blankets were off the table didn’t mean he couldn’t try for something else, but Master just turned and elbowed him out of the way. “You can nurse him three times a day. I suggest you make them count.” He turned over his shoulder. “And I’m still expecting dinner on time.”

Grantaire slumped against the door. It could’ve been worse – Master had constantly threatened to take Enjolras next door to “recover” when he strep throat, to reduce the risk of the infection spreading, and Grantaire had nearly gone out of his mind trying to care for Enjolras and please Master enough to placate him. (He knew it must have just been a threat, they both had already been exposed to enough of Enjolras’s germs at that point that they were either immune or were already doomed to catch it, but the fear still dogged his every step.) Enjolras made another sound and changed position slightly, groaning as if even that little movement had caused him great pain. 

For a minute Grantaire couldn’t move for the intensity of the hatred coursing through him. Master was sitting comfortably in his chair, waiting to be served dinner (and probably other things), while Enjolras suffered on the floor. Normally Grantaire spent all his emotional energy on being afraid and hating himself, but seeing Enjolras like this (again) pulled him out of his misery enough to feel something else. Maybe he couldn’t do everything he wanted to make Enjolras feel better, but he could make Master miserable too.

But Enjolras still came first. Grantaire went to the crawlspace, returning to the guest room with their quilt dragging behind him. He knelt by Enjolras again and wrapped him in it as gently as he could, making sure there was enough under him to cushion him against the floor and bunching up extra material from one corner to create a makeshift pillow. 

Enjolras opened his eyes halfway. “Thank you, Grantaire,” he mumbled as Grantaire tucked the last bit of blanket in, and there was probably no scale in the history of humanity that could accurately measure just how good that made Grantaire feel. Just like there wasn’t one that could measure just how very, very much he hated himself at that exact moment. (For the normal, everyday moments, a whole fucking lot was typically an adequate measurement.)

He stood up, and Enjolras had already closed his eyes again. Grantaire left for the kitchen and rooted through the pantry, looking for anything that he could prepare quickly enough to meet Master’s requirement of on-time service. He found a large stockpile of soup cans stacked on the floor. Grantaire took two cans of chicken noodle. He opened them both and poured them into the largest glass he could find before putting it into the microwave. While he waited, he washed out both cans and carefully picked the labels off. (He did it carefully because if he could do something carefully, it must mean he was very much in control of his plan and the terror wasn’t hovering on the edge of his mind threatening to overwhelm his earlier bravado.)

He buried one can in the recycling bin and its corresponding label at the bottom of the trash, before putting the other set on top of everything else. When the mug was ready, Grantaire took it to the guest room. He stood in the door for a moment, looking at Enjolras wrapped in their threadbare quilt, and he felt the urge to do something highly unproductive like break the mug or something incredibly stupid like curl up around Enjolras to share his own body heat. Finally, he approached and shook Enjolras awake. “Enjolras, can you drink some of this for me?”

“Not hungry,” Enjolras whimpered. 

“I know, I know,” Grantaire soothed, “but you really need to.”

“Don’t want to sit up,” Enjolras protested now, and it sounded like he honestly couldn’t even if he wanted to. Fuck.

“Shh, that’s fine. Here, I’ll help you.” Grantaire set the mug down and then settled cross-legged next to Enjolras’s head, lifting it gently to rest on his knee. When Enjolras seemed as comfortable as Grantaire could make him, Grantaire held the mug to Enjolras’s mouth and helped him drink small sips of it. Enjolras grew more and more reluctant, but Grantaire made him finish half of the mug before relenting.

He put the mug aside again and lowered Enjolras’s head back to the quilt-pillow. Grantaire let himself watch Enjolras for a minute (obviously just to make sure he wasn’t going to throw up or something, yes, that was it). When Enjolras had been still for long enough Grantaire deemed the danger past, he took the mug with the remaining soup and stood up. The terror crept closer – he could just drink the rest himself or even just pour it down the drain and make something else. “So cold,” Enjolras complained then, trying to burrow deeper into the quilt, and that gave Grantaire the courage he needed.

He stopped in the bathroom before going to Master, carefully washing and drying his hands. He took the hand towel Master used the most and wiped the rim of the mug clean with it. Grantaire finally forced himself to go to the office, shaking slightly, but hoping it would be pleasing enough for Master to watch that he wouldn’t be questioned about it.

Master didn’t turn when he came in, so Grantaire took a coaster and set the mug on the desk before shuffling back to the spot where Enjolras usually stood while Master ate. Grantaire counted in his head to keep from fidgeting too much as Master continued to ignore him. This was one of Master’s favorite games – it didn’t mean he had caught onto Grantaire’s. Finally, Master picked up the mug and studied it.

“This seems awfully large for what you actually brought me to eat,” he said, and Grantaire kept his eyes on the ground so he wouldn’t see Master watching him over the rim.

“I – I didn’t want it to spill,” Grantaire offered lamely. 

“Hmm, I see,” and from the sound of it, Master was tracing his finger around the rim now. “It’s been an awfully long time since I heard the microwave go off.”

“I made it too hot at first, Master,” Grantaire mumbled. “I – I brought Enjolras the quilt while I waited for it to cool.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I thought it would be OK because now I won’t have it.” If he dug his own grave thoroughly enough, Master might not prepare another one for him instead.

Master finally laughed, and while it was a cruel sound, Grantaire knew it meant he accepted Grantaire’s story. He was careful to keep his arms where they were as Master began to drink. “Come here, you’re going to suck me off when I’m done.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Enjolras felt like he had been run over by a truck. Every punishment Master had every wrought on him paled in comparison. He was sitting up in the guest room, leaning against the wall, and even that felt taxing. The last days were blurry, but he remembered Grantaire coming frequently, with cold water and hot soup and comfort. He thought maybe Grantaire had started to sound weary as well, but Enjolras had been so utterly miserable that he couldn’t even consider anything besides his own suffering.

Now that his fever had finally broken, he knew he should get up and try to find out what was going on, but just the thought of walking was exhausting, so he stayed where he was. He dozed off at intervals but eventually grew restless and remained awake when still Grantaire did not come again. Enjolras had spent so much time asleep or in waking hallucinations that he couldn’t say for sure how frequently Grantaire actually came, but his absence seemed uncomfortably long now.

Enjolras spent several minutes marshalling his energy before using the wall to pull himself up into a standing position. He should really take the quilt to the laundry room to wash, covered as it was in days of his sweat. By the same token, his clothes would need to be thoroughly washed as well. But just the thought of the additional tasks was already wearing him down, so Enjolras left the quilt behind. 

Enjolras had been hoping to find Grantaire, to thank him for his care, which must’ve come at a steep price, in whatever way Grantaire might actually accept his gratitude, but the cottage seemed eerily quiet. Enjolras could tell from the light that it was nearly dusk, when Master was usually still working with Grantaire at his feet. Enjolras supposed he expected to have heard Grantaire somewhere despite that, doing Enjolras’s chores in his absence. Enjolras jumped when he heard rustling from Master’s bedroom. 

It must have been one of the days Master didn’t work.

Enjolras hesitated and then stumbled to the kitchen, keeping close to the wall in case he needed to catch himself. He decided he would have some water to clear his head before deciding what to do next.

He came to a standstill when he actually got there, though. There were several bags of groceries sitting on the island, and he could see several of the plastic bags were damp, like refrigerated or frozen items had warmed enough to start sweating. Enjolras wondered for a long moment if this was another fevered hallucination, but he touched his own forehead and could tell it was cool. 

The scene was worrisome, but there were plenty of reasonable explanations. Maybe Master had been in the mood when it came back from the store and had carted Grantaire away to the bedroom; he might have been so used to the fact that Enjolras was the one who put everything away that maybe it hadn’t even registered that Grantaire needed to do it this time.

Enjolras went to the island and started to sort out of everything that needed to go in the fridge. The gallon of milk he pulled out was practically room temperature, which now had him very concerned. Master could certainly use Grantaire for a very long time when he wanted to, but Grantaire surely would’ve begged for it to stop at some point, using the ready-made excuse that the groceries were spoiling in the kitchen.

Enjolras doubted much of anything in his pile was still safe for consumption, but he thought he should put it away for now, at least until Master made a decision about what to do. He slid everything down to the other end of the island, too tired to carry it in his arms, and then he tripped.

Grantaire was laying on the floor, blood pooled around his head. Enjolras felt dizzy and sick and went to his knees in what could only be described as a controlled fall.

He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t. 

Enjolras made himself take deep breaths, like he did whenever he had the wherewithal to note a flashback was imminent, but, this time, none came. Perhaps his brain was able to separate this incident from the one in the bathroom since the circumstances were different enough.

He shook himself and then Grantaire, whispering the other man’s name quietly but urgently. Grantaire remained limp and silent, arms flopping even when Enjolras rolled him from his side to his back. Blood was around his mouth and smeared over much of his face, and there were large stains of it on his right hand and inner elbow. Enjolras put him back onto his side, in case Grantaire woke and coughed again, while he thought.

As terrifying as finding Grantaire bleeding out had been, he had known what to do. Enjolras probably hadn’t done a perfect job and, with no knowledge of how to suture the wounds, Grantaire had been left with large, ropey scars on his arms, but it had been enough. Enjolras didn’t think it would be enough now. 

Even if he tried every flu remedy available to him, which was really just rest and fluids, it was clear even to Enjolras’s untrained eye that Grantaire needed more than that. Maybe if Grantaire had been healthy, that would have been adequate, but neither of them were in any condition to easily fight off an illness. Enjolras was probably lucky his own bout of flu hadn’t worsened in this same way. It was clear Grantaire needed to go to the hospital.

Enjolras felt like he needed to go to the hospital just from having that thought. But what else could he do? Grantaire was going to die if he did nothing. Enjolras forced himself to take more deep breaths; he needed to think.

When he looked up again, darkness had completely fallen, but Master still hadn’t appeared. He remembered the rustling he had earlier. Was Master sick as well? 

Enjolras dragged himself upright and set about heating up a can of soup. He would need to figure out a way to get the alarm turned off before they could leave, and there was no way to do that without talking to Master. Perhaps if he came with a peace offering and an apology for his laziness, an opportunity would present itself. He looked down at Grantaire’s body and then quickly away; this was normally Grantaire’s thing, not his, and Enjolras wished he had asked more questions on how Grantaire could be so successful at it, but it was too late now.

Enjolras drank as much water as he could manage while the soup finished heating, and then he crept down to Master’s bedroom. He opened the door and let his eyes adjust. The curtains were drawn, and it was completely dark, darker than normal. Enjolras frowned and looked around, but it was hard to identify something by its absence.

When Enjolras could see well enough, he walked quietly to Master’s side and set the soup down on the nightstand, switching on the lamp as he did so. Enjolras could see how sweaty Master’s forehead was, and when Master opened his eyes, they were glazed and bloodshot. He seemed confused by Enjolras’s presence. “Grantaire said you were sick, boy,” he growled, though the effect was ruined by how wrecked his voice was.

“I still am, Master,” Enjolras whimpered, and it took almost no extra effort to pretend. “But it’s not fair to make him do all the work.” Enjolras managed a pitiful little cough.

“I think that’s what he likes about it,” Master ground out as he sat upright enough to drink the soup. “He’s been sick almost as long you have been, but even when I offered to let him rest, he wouldn’t do it. Taking care of you was too important.” Enjolras felt hot with shame instead of fever now. He knew he had been truly out of it and he couldn’t really blame himself for not noticing, but Enjolras hated knowing Grantaire had endured just for him. 

Master looked exhausted by the time he finished the soup. “Go get me some medicine, boy,” he ordered. “And turn off the fucking light.”

“Yes, Master.” Enjolras took the empty mug and switched off the lamp, turning to leave. The weird level of darkness returned to the room, but the change in perspective was enough for Enjolras to work it out this time. There was no glow coming from the alarm keypad; it was off. They could leave. 

Enjolras shook as he left, carrying the mug with him, unwilling to go back to the kitchen before he had absolutely had to. He dug around the bathroom cabinet until he found a bottle of Nyquil. He turned it over to look at the dosage instructions, struggling to read the fine print with his raging headache, and he ended up reading the warnings instead. And then he read them again. And again.

He made himself go back to the kitchen, taking the entire bottle with him. Enjolras was caught between wanting to look at Grantaire and not look at him, but he forced himself to focus on his task, heart pounding. 

He put the empty mug in the sink and then used his free hand to open the freezer and take out the half-bottle of vodka on the shelf. He cleared off space on the island to work. He wondered if Master had already been feeling ill when he went for one last grocery run, hoping it would last until he felt better; if he was anywhere near as sick as Enjolras had been, Enjolras could completely see how he would’ve gone straight to bed and forgotten all about the alarm. He was legitimately impressed Master had managed an outing at all. 

Enjolras carefully poured the vodka into the Nyquil, stopping whenever his hands shook enough he thought he was going to spill. He wasn’t sure how much extra alcohol he added, only stopping when it looked like the Nyquil would be a noticeably different color. He could only hope it would knock Master out for quite a long time.

He put the vodka back and then returned to the bedroom. “Took you long enough, boy,” Master snapped, though there was no real venom in the words.

“I’m sorry, Master, it took me a long time to find.” 

“Whatever. I want a full dose.” Enjolras focused on keeping his hands steady as he poured and handed Master the little plastic cup. Master grimaced when he knocked it back, and Enjolras held his breath. “That shit tastes fucking gross for how good it is,” Master said, before settling back down. Enjolras waited but nothing else happened. He crept from the room, shutting the door behind him, wishing it opened out instead of in, so that he could barricade it.

He could still feel his own exhaustion, but it had receded away under the huge surge of adrenaline that hit him, as he truly realized he could leave with Grantaire. The terror of his first escape attempt was creeping slowly down his spine, but he pinched his arm roughly; this time would be different. It had to be.

Enjolras went first to the guest room and gathered up the quilt. He checked the laundry room, but there was no warm clothing in there they could use, and he certainly couldn’t go back to Master’s closet. The quilt would have to do. At least Grantaire had been allowed to also dress in a T-shirt and boxers after the weather had grown cold this year.

Next Enjolras went to the coat closet and dug out a pair of boots for himself, different than the ones he had worn the first time. He didn’t really believe in luck, but using the same pair as before seemed like a bad omen. There weren’t any that seemed large enough for Grantaire’s feet, but Enjolras found a pair of heavy socks in a bin and took those for the other man. While they would be sharing body heat, Enjolras wouldn’t really be able to keep Grantaire’s extremities warm enough without aid. 

Enjolras went back to the kitchen, still both looking and not looking at Grantaire’s prone form. He briefly debated gathering up some food to carry, but it seemed like a waste of time; he would probably tire of carrying Grantaire long before his hunger became a serious enough problem, especially after all the soup he had already had over the past days. There was nothing to do now but go.

He used the cabinet to push Grantaire into a slumped kneel and wrapped him in the quilt, before kneeling himself, trying to catch Grantaire’s stomach with his shoulder. It took several tries to get it right, and then it was a few more minutes of work to actually stand back up. He staggered a few steps, equilibrium thrown off by having the other man’s weight all on one side. Grantaire still made no sound or movement.

Enjolras went to the front door, heart still racing. He felt the blood from Grantaire’s mouth seeping into his shirt. 

Enjolras opened the door and stepped into the cold night, grateful this time for the warmth of Grantaire’s body. He started walking, growing tired by the time he reached the end of the block. He stopped at the corner, panic returning. It was 50 miles to the closest town, but that didn’t necessarily mean it had any medical facilities. How could he possibly carry Grantaire to help? Maybe he should just go back and plead with Master.

No. Master hadn’t even gotten help when Grantaire had tried to kill himself. He certainly wouldn’t do anything for something like the flu, especially when he was sick himself. Enjolras was on his own. He made himself start walking again.

He had vaguely remembered how eerily still and silent the town had been the first time, but it was just as unsettling this time. He followed the same route as before, burned into his memory from how many times he had replayed the failed escape in his mind, intending to let himself rest at the grocery store again, desperately hoping the dumpster was still there.

He was near the end of the next block when he heard a vehicle driving up slowly behind him. Grabbing Grantaire with both arms for stability, he darted behind a bush, crouching down and praying it wasn’t Master. 

It wasn’t. It was a mail truck. 

It crept past, pausing in front of each darkened house, as if the carrier were looking for the right address. Enjolras had already seen that all the houses were dark, but he heard the truck come to a stop and the back gate being rolled up anyway. He peered around the bush and by the light from the truck, he saw the carrier digging around in the back. She took a package out out, fussing with it and a scanner in her hands, going up towards the house in question.

This was it. 

Enjolras stumbled out and as quickly and quietly as he could, aware of how still the night was and how easily noise carried. The woman was standing at the house door, but leaning over like she was reading something, and then she turned and went around the house. Enjolras hoisted himself and Grantaire up into the truck and then lowered Grantaire to the floor. The back was filled with a jumble of boxes, and Enjolras worked to clear a space between a few of the taller stacks, hands shaking. 

He had just managed to crawl into their new enclosure, pulling Grantaire in after him as gently as he could manage, when the carrier returned, tossing her box none to gently back on top of a pile, grumbling under her breath, before pulling the gate shut again. The truck pulled forward with a start, and the box tumbled down, Enjolras barely managing to catch it before it hit Grantaire in the head.

The piles surrounding them were too tall for Enjolras to put it back from his seated position, so he pushed Grantaire’s knees under his chin and set the box in front of his feet, before wrapping an arm around the other man’s shoulders and pulling his head to his shoulder. Even though there was no direct skin contact, Enjolras could still feel how hot Grantaire was.

For a second Enjolras felt the panic return, wondering if they were just going to drive to the local post office and be stuck in the same town, but as they turned and gradually picked up speed, the fear abated. Wherever the mail truck came from, it wasn’t here. Enjolras let himself be lulled into a doze, growing more and more hopeful the further they drove. 

With no point of reference, it was hard to know how long it had been, but Enjolras jerked back into wakefulness when the truck slowed, made a few turns, and came to a stop. The carrier turned the engine off and got out, leaving the door ajar, and then Enjolras heard another door open and shut in the distance.

Flooded with a new burst of adrenaline, he shoved a way to the driver’s seat clear, clambering into tithe driver’s seat and then hauling Grantaire up after him. Enjolras climbed down and then used to the height difference to more easily resettle Grantaire back on his shoulder. The rest and bit of sleep had refreshed him, and Grantaire no longer seemed so impossibly heavy.

The parking lot was well lit, so Enjolras walked away as quickly as he could, finding the adjacent road safely dark. He looked both ways, unsure where to go next. There was a large cluster of buildings to the left, though he couldn’t read any of the signs from this distance. There was nothing but a large field to his other side, so he went towards the buildings; at the very least they might help him get his bearings.

Enjolras almost fell over when he got to the sign and saw it was for an Emergency Room. The building looked far too small to accommodate one, but the sign was clear, with a hospital logo in the corner. Enjolras wished Grantaire were awake, afraid his mind was playing tricks on him, but he traced the letters with his finger and they remained.

Suddenly overcome, Enjolras stumbled down the hill and to the entrance, blinded by the light coming from inside. The doors opened automatically and he walked into a massive sensory overload. A large man in a security guard uniform looked up from his desk and his jaw literally dropped. And then everything happened at once.

Several nurses in scrubs ran out to the atrium, and Grantaire was gently lifted from Enjolras’s shoulder and put on a gurney as one of the nurses fitted an oxygen mask over his face. Several other people at the desk were talking seriously into their phones. A nurse touched Enjolras on the shoulder and he flinched away before he could stop himself. Enjolras could hear her speaking but couldn’t make out the words, panicking as they began to wheel Grantaire away. Enjolras stumbled after, the nurse following behind him, though she didn’t stop him.

They took Grantaire into a small room and Enjolras collapsed into a chair in the corner. The nurse was still trying to talk to him, but it all blurred with the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. A doctor in a white coat came in and looked at Grantaire for only a few seconds before nodding. The nurse beside Enjolras left and returned with a wheelchair. She fitted a wristband onto Grantaire and then Enjolras, though Enjolras paid no attention, completely intent on watching was happening to Grantaire. She wrapped a blanket around Enjolras’s shoulders and forced a bottle of water into his hands. Enjolras was dimly aware that she took his vitals, narrating as she went, though she had thankfully given up on questioning him.

When the nurse was finished, a paramedic came into the room, and suddenly Grantaire was being pushed out again. Enjolras struggled to stand back up, but the nurse guided him into the wheelchair and pushed him down the hall after the gurney. They were taken back out the main entrance and Grantaire was loaded into an ambulance, Enjolras clambering in after, with assistance from the nurse.

They drove for less than a minute before stopping, a loud whirring getting louder they further they went. Even once they had stopped, the ambulance rocked slightly. Two nurses opened the door and jumped down, and now Enjolras could see they were in the large field he had seen before, next to the post office, and a small helicopter was nearby. Two people emerged and came over to the ambulance, helping unload Grantaire and transfer him over to the helicopter. 

Enjolras staggered out after him, terrified of being left behind now. One of the nurses from the helicopter tried to stop Enjolras when they saw him following, but the nurse from the hospital shouted something Enjolras couldn’t make out over the noise, and then he was allowed forward. The body of the helicopter was incredibly crowded, with hardly enough room for Grantaire and the two nurses. There was one corner with a bit of space, and Enjolras squashed himself into it, not feeling secure until they lifted off.

The sensation of flight was strange, and it was disorienting to not be able to see anything or know where they were going. The nurses were talking to one another, calm but urgent, as they tended to Grantaire. Enjolras started to feel hot and dizzy as the flight went on and on, but he knew better than to say anything. Even if he was relapsing, Grantaire was much sicker than him.

Finally, the helicopter slowed and began to maneuver more, and then they landed gently. The helicopter door opened and even from his awkward position, Enjolras could see a group of nurses were gathered on the roof of wherever they had landed, lights from taller buildings in the background creating an eerie backdrop to the brighter lights illuminating the roof.

Some of the group broke off to help the nurses from the helicopter unload Grantaire again, and Enjolras staggered up, feet and legs tingling after sitting in such a cramped position for so long. One of the flight nurses returned in time to catch him and practically carried him out, setting him down into a waiting wheelchair. 

But as soon as he sat down, Enjolras saw Grantaire was being taken towards an elevator, while he was not. He tried standing again and landed painfully on his hands and knees. A door burst open next to the elevator, and two doctors hurried out, both looking rumpled and harried. They gave each other a look, and one peeled off to Grantaire, while the other ran towards Enjolras.

Enjolras could hear the doctor talking to him, but the words were muffled and made no sense. The doctor helped him back up, forcing him back into the wheelchair despite Enjolras’s very best effort to squirm and wriggle away, desperate to stay with Grantaire. As the elevator door slid shut, Enjolras let out a strangled cry, barely registering the prick in his thigh. Where was Grantaire going? Was he going to be OK? Why couldn’t he go with? What if he never found out what happened?

Enjolras wanted to beg, wanted to offer up anything he could think of to be allowed to follow, but his head was really swimming now, with more than the wooziness that had come back during the helicopter flight. Getting up suddenly seemed like such an effort, more than he could manage. Part of his mind screamed at him to try again, but it grew quieter and quieter until everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on what times people comment, I know I have a lot of non-American readers (hello!), so I just wanted to add a little note about the postal service bit. I spent a long time trying to think of a plausible way for E/R to cover a lot of distance from their little town, and this is what I came up with. Even when the USPS basically hemorrhages money, there's still a lot of support for it because sending mail to rural areas is inefficient and expensive (duh) and would become a real issue if privatized, and sometimes the only regular service to those places is the mail. (I really hope this didn't seem like a cop-out!) 
> 
> I also based the town E/R arrive at on where I live, where our post office really is right next to an ER. (We also send kids to two different school districts based on totally random lines, so we're not exactly a paragon of urban planning though.)
> 
> I did my best to research what a life flight is actually like, but there was surprisingly little information available, and I couldn't find any accounts of what it's like from the patient perspective, so I may have taken a little creative liberty to fill in the gaps. I'm guessing in real life Enjolras would've been transported separately, but I just couldn't do that to him!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, who needs plot when you can have R!angst and fluff? 
> 
> (Am I the only one who very much enjoys overindulgent!plotless!slave!fic?)
> 
> (I probably am, but w/e.)
> 
> (I promise there will be some plot next chapter. Probably.)

Grantaire toppled over awkwardly when Enjolras suddenly slammed into him, crying harder than Grantaire had ever heard before. He wasn’t sure what sort of response or reciprocation Enjolras wanted or expected, but it didn’t matter anyway because one of his arms and his bent legs were pinned against the bedrail and the other arm against his own side and Enjolras was pressing even more into him like he could force their bodies to merge together if he kept at it long enough. Grantaire supposed this was about when his self-loathing should jump up from its normal levels (ie idly calculating the chance of a plane crashing into their room and hitting him) to full throttle maximum (ie contemplating if he could throw himself right from the window and save fate from having to contrive a way to off him), but the hatred surprisingly hovered where it was, probably because he (honest to God) couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even think about what Éponine had said, because even he couldn’t deny that, right now at least, Enjolras actually did need him.

But this breakdown was going to be a major problem sooner rather than later because so far there seemed to be a hard limit on the amount of carrying on their new masters accepted before intervening. As fucked up as Master had been, Grantaire could at least see things from his perspective, understand what would work in any given situation: act out to divert attention (when Master was looking for an outlet for boredom); play up his own injuries to entice Master (when Master was somewhere between annoyance or anger about something unrelated to either him or Enjolras); suppress his own injuries poorly, whether as an act or in reality (when Master was feeling impotent and needed to re-establish his position of power); proactively offer himself up in exchange for Enjolras (when Enjolras had misbehaved in a way Grantaire could construe as accidental); or extricate himself so he could prepare to care for Enjolras in the aftermath of whatever punishment Master made him endure (when Enjolras had been either Very Bad or done it On Purpose). 

The new masters, on the other hand, operated in some other reality, where they liked to push Enjolras and Grantaire to the edge but then didn’t like when they actually, you know, fell off. It was a lot of effort with little pay-off. The closest Grantaire could guess was they got off on the initial outburst but didn’t want to deal with the mess that followed. Or maybe that first bit was all they felt safe to enjoy in the hospital, which must be filled with all sorts of wandering eyes and flapping mouths. Or maybe they wanted them kept in a permanent state of maximum stress but were still working out where that line was. 

But even if any of those guesses were near the mark, that information was as good as useless (just as good as Grantaire was, coincidentally, so what an excellent match it was.) However the masters had come to their…consensus on how to treat the two of them, it must still be a compromise in some sense. What they wanted had to occupy a whole spectrum of shit, and manipulation was all about understanding what Master really wanted and gently steering him to that destination from another direction, but Master was still very much the driver in this metaphor and could throw his Grantaire-GPS out the window at any point and do whatever he wanted. But there was always still a chance. 

Even discounting his insignificant sample size, Grantaire was lost on what to do. He wasn’t even sure what his metaphor became at this point: were the masters all holding one small piece of the wheel of collective car or had they decided on what to collective car to drive but one of them was actually driving (or were they taking turns?) or were they all still driving individual cars that had been temporarily lashed together like a raft to float through the Suffering Sea?

Or maybe they were all piled into a tank and Grantaire would get squashed like a bug for even trying. 

Grantaire tried to extricate his head from where Enjolras was currently suffocating him in the crook of his neck (probably a top contender for the Acceptable Ways to Die list), but it only prompted Enjolras to smush into him even more. 

OK, Grantaire could work with this. He could probably talk to Enjolras quietly enough that no one else could hear, or at least understand, as close together as they were. (If only Enjolras were as easy as him and would calm down just because Grantaire wanted him to. But of course Enjolras has far more of his dignity intact than Grantaire. Not that zero was a hard number to beat, but Enjolras obviously did with flying colors. Enjolras would need sensible things like rational arguments and logic.)

So Grantaire was going to need to figure out what had set Enjolras off like this. It had something to do with the box, Grantaire knew. Enjolras had been absolutely fixated on it, which had been odd from the get-go, since the trick to getting something they wanted or avoiding something they didn’t, was to pay as little attention to whatever it was as possible. Being too eager or too afraid was a recipe for disaster – they might as well have erected a giant neon sign advertising their feelings. The only thing that could make Enjolras deviate from the norm was his massive (inexplicable) guilt.

But Grantaire couldn’t recall any instance where something bad had happened to him involving a box of any sort, let alone something that Enjolras could even begin to blame himself for. (He knew Enjolras thought he had moments where Grantaire forgot what happened, but they were more like…out-of-body experiences, and Grantaire could remember everything perfectly well, even if it all felt like it had happened to another person. But Enjolras was so attentive after these times, without his pity on full display since he want to make Grantaire “remember” that Grantaire had never had the spine to correct him.)

Enjolras drew back now, which was good, because in all his mental ramblings the only thing about this meltdown Grantaire had determined was that it was his fault, but what else was new. He could’ve just started from there and then had all that time to maybe come to some sort of more helpful conclusion. (And agonize while Enjolras couldn’t see his face.)

But now not only could Enjolras see his face, he was staring into like he was trying to see into Grantaire’s soul. 

Shit. 

The only time Enjolras had looked at Grantaire like that was after Grantaire had tried to kill himself. No innocent boxes had been involved in the attempt, so this must be related to their escape. So far, Enjolras had only mentioned finding Grantaire unconscious and on the verge of death (which still sounded like make-believe, but everyone and everything had supported that scenario so far, so Grantaire had to reluctantly accept it as the truth,) but even in Enjolras’s limited recounting, the subject of boxes had never come up. (Or been purposely talked around or covered up either.) 

Grantaire was probably going to melt or explode if Enjolras kept staring at him like he was important, so, now that he had the space, he wriggled his arm out and took Enjolras’s hand. This had ostensibly been to help with his own tenuous grasp on reality, but Enjolras wandering through his bad memories wasn’t all that different from Grantaire’s nightmares. (And since this was still basically Enjolras’s idea, he probably wouldn’t even hold it against Grantaire, just hold his hand instead.)

Enjolras released a shaky breath and then his face slowly relaxed, before he slumped back down on his side of the bed, still keeping Grantaire’s hand tight in his own. He nearly crushed it in surprise when he opened his eyes and saw Mistress Fauchelevent had taken Dr. Joly’s place by the bed. 

“Enjolras, we called the police and they’re sending a detective over again, but it will be awhile before they get here. Can you think about who you want with you for the interview this time?” Enjolras yanked on Grantaire so hard and fast that Grantaire would’ve sprawled across his lap if he hadn’t braced himself with his free arm. Enjolras looked immediately stricken and set about tucking the blankets tightly around Grantaire’s hips, locking him into place. 

Mistress Fauchelevent just smiled softly. “I think normally the police would want to talk to you separately, but I suppose since Grantaire can’t possibly remember what happened, I doubt it will be an issue.” Grantaire somehow felt even more confused than before. Saying that he couldn’t remember implied that Enjolras had forgotten. Forgotten what? How they escaped? And the box had triggered his memory? 

Grantaire felt sick. He had thought Éponine getting a free moment with Enjolras to explain what he should do now that Master no longer had them was literally the worst thing that could happen, short of Enjolras contracting some sort of superbug in the hospital and dying. But if Enjolras had only just remembered their escape, that meant he couldn’t have told the police anything about it, and that meant the police probably had no idea who or where Master was, and that meant he could come back for them at any moment. If the press knew where he and Enjolras were, Master must know as well. Grantaire was suddenly glad they were never left alone. 

“But Enjolras,” Mistress Fauchelevent pressed, “would you like Courf or Marius here too?” At least this was a choice Grantaire understood, even if it wasn’t his to make. Enjolras waited a long time to answer. Without a frame of reference, Grantaire didn’t know if this was a prudent calculation or Enjolras trying to wait for Mistress Fauchelevent to give a better indication of what the right answer was. But she seemed ready to wait them out as long as necessary, body still and expression tranquil. Enjolras’s hands shook as he used his thumbs and forefingers to make a good approximation of a capital M.

“Of course. I’ll let Marius know.” She started to turn away.

“Wait,” said Éponine, pushing herself out of the corner where she had been standing with Mistress Musichetta and Master Lesgle and Dr. Joly, the three of them standing in a tight cluster. “Are you seriously not even going to ask R who he wants for support?”

“Well, Enjolras will be the one being questioned. I assumed-”

“Yeah, and you know what they say about that. I’m pretty sure the average person finds sitting in on a meeting with an authority figure intimidating, even they’re not expected to contribute. Let alone….” Her voice trailed off and Grantaire wanted to crawl under the covers and never come back out. The tiny, miniscule, microscopic, infinitesimal hope inside that maybe Éponine couldn’t bolster her inevitable argument with what had happened to him burned out. She knew how naughty he was. Enjolras would have to be legitimately crazy not to listen to her. 

“Grantaire, would you like me to stay as well?” There were very few things Grantaire would like less than that. Éponine frowned and then shook herself again. “Do you want Jehan?”

And of course because he couldn’t just accept the inevitable, he was presented with another horrible option. Jehan was Master Prouvaire, but he wasn’t supposed to know that. Grantaire was just as scared of him as Éponine, but he didn’t know what response the masters would expect from him if they thought he thought Jehan was an unknown person, rather than Master Prouvaire. The conversation with Enjolras was fuzzy around the edges, but the other man thought Master Prouvaire had enjoyed the deception. If Grantaire simply pretended to not know who he was, hopefully that would make him happy enough, plus he would have to leave them alone to maintain the act. That was better than constantly worrying about what Éponine would say, so he finally nodded.

“OK. Cosette, I’ll let them know, but can you ask Marius to grab them when he gets here?”

“Mmm, of course,” Mistress Fauchelevent said, even as she typed on her phone.

“Before that happens, would the two of you like to take showers?” Dr. Joly asked.

Grantaire felt slightly dizzy. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He was probably going to majorly fuck this up, still so unsure what all these masters wanted, but he would never forgive himself if he didn’t try. Enjolras was still clinging steadfastly to his hand, but Grantaire still managed to tip himself into a kneel, arm twisting back. “No, sir, please. Please.” It was hard to go on, not from the shame (that had been ground so deeply into him he felt it constantly, this small flare didn’t even register), but from the fear and uncertainty that he wouldn’t pick the right words. 

The point was probably to remind both of them of their places, which meant the chance he could protect Enjolras was slim. Or would have been slim, if this had been Master. But maybe Dr. Joly would be different? “Please, I promise it was my fault. Just punish me. Please.” At least that was the nice thing about constantly messing up – everything always really was his fault.

Grantaire looked up through his eyelashes, feeling suddenly exposed without his hair to hide behind. Dr. Joly was frowning. Shit. (Everyone else was frowning too, probably in sympathy that Dr. Joly had to decide what to do with this pathetic attempt at placation. And here was another factor Grantaire hadn’t yet considered either – how each person acted in a group was probably different than how they would act alone. Would Dr. Joly be unwilling to show mercy in front of others?)

Grantaire’s arm jerked and he first thought Enjolras was trying to pull him down or back, but when the movement changed, he looked and saw Enjolras was kneeling up as well. No. No no no. This was not how things were supposed to go.

Enjolras was swallowing rapidly and Grantaire felt like he was on a flight of stairs and had missed a step except that feeling went on and on. “No, please. Just punish me, sir. Grantaire’s still weak. I promise I can take.” Of course Enjolras would actually make a coherent argument, even while begging. 

Dr. Joly rubbed at this eyes with the sleeve of his coat. Mistress Fauchelevent had her head tilted to the side like a bird, clearly mulling over their words. Would she interevene? If only Grantaire knew how to appeal specifically to her. But on the other hand, Éponine looked like she was going to blast through the ceiling and continue until she got to Pluto. She had just made things crystal clear to Grantaire, and he was completely ignoring her.

Dr. Joly finally got himself under control. “This isn’t – we’re not punishing you. I thought it would be nice to bathe and put on some clean clothes.” It had to be a trap. It had to be. But Grantaire could tell Enjolras was studying Dr. Joly. Was it not a trap? Enjolras had spent a lot more time awake and aware around him, though Grantaire was concerned the remembered guilt from earlier was making Enjolras want to try to atone in the present. Which was stupid, because how could you fix a mistake when you hadn’t actually done anything wrong?

“I know everything must seem strange and confusing,” Mistress Fauchelevent said, head now upright, “but doing something to take care of yourselves will help.”

Dr. Joly dug through a drawer and pulled out two new gowns. Enjolras tensed beside Grantaire when the doctor came closer, but Dr. Joly stepped away as soon as he put the gowns on top of the box. “As long as you promise to be careful, you can be alone. Just promise to rest if you need too. And use the call button if you need help. Everything else you might want is in the box.”

“Thank you, sir,” Enjolras mumbled, and Grantaire couldn’t repeat the refrain around the knot in his chest. He was supposed to be able to earn or bargain for nice things for Enjolras and then give them to him. Enjolras was too good to have to kneel and beg and whimper thanks like him. Instead he busied himself with lowering the bedrail and taking the box. At least Enjolras wouldn’t have to handle the item that caused him so much distress. They both shuffled backwards into the bathroom, and Grantaire locked the door before sinking down in front of it.

The shower occupied one corner of the bathroom, with a curtain that could be drawn around it and handles on both walls. Towels were hung nearby, and there were small bottles of soap and shampoo on a shelf. Enjolras went to turn on the water, and Grantaire sat against the door. There must be a way to open it from the outside, and he would slow down anyone who tried to get in.

Water started to fall and Enjolras came back. Grantaire could tell Enjolras was studying him again, so he opened the box and began to look through it. As far as he could see, it only contained clothing, though there was a wide variety for each of them – boxers, sweat pants, T-shirts, and heavier top layers. The masters had described them as their things, and they did seem familiar, though Grantaire wasn’t sure why. Enjolras was still watching him. 

“We shouldn’t take too long,” he said, hoping Enjolras would at least listen to logic.

“Alright,” Enjolras agreed, far too readily for Grantaire’s liking. “Why don’t you find something for me to wear? It will be more efficient that way.” Grantaire changed his mind. They had plenty of time. But before he could protest, Enjolras was gone and drawing the shower curtain and Grantaire certainly wasn’t going to disturb Enjolras when he was finally getting something nice for once. He was actually surprised this wasn’t triggering for Enjolras, but perhaps being able to control the temperature himself with no one holding him in made him comfortable enough. 

It wasn’t that Grantaire wasn’t used to doing things for Enjolras, but usually he didn’t have choices, not exactly. Sure, sometimes he might have to choose whether to beg for extra food or for access to the medicine cabinet, but that came down to an actual cost-benefit analysis. If he was allowed the extra food, it’s not like he was ever told to choose what kind. But Enjolras would be done sooner rather than later, if only because he would tire quickly, and how disappointed would he be if Grantaire didn’t listen? Then it’d be even easier for Éponine later.

Grantaire made himself breathe. He grabbed a pair of boxers at random, since they were all the same, followed by a pair of black pajama pants. The water turned off, and in a panic he grabbed a heavy red hoodie. It was going to be huge on Enjolras, but it at least looked warm and cozy. He flipped the box lid over and set the pile of clothes in it, keeping them off the floor. 

At the last second, he pulled a set of clothes at random from his side of the box, carefully looking anywhere but at Enjolras when he shuffled back over. Yes, he had seen Enjolras naked before, and yes, Enjolras was most certainly covered by a towel now anyway, but it seemed sacrilegious for Grantaire to look at him in this state. When he sensed Enjolras was about to speak, he fled to the shower.

For all the fear and worry so far, the shower was actually pretty wonderful.

Grantaire could hear Enjolras shuffling around by the door, enough to feel secure that Enjolras was safe, for the moment. The water was pleasantly warm, and it had been so many days since he’d been taken or abused that there wasn’t much pain either. The only snafu was when he poured way too much shampoo into his palm, still forgetful of how short his hair (finally thank God) was. He didn’t want to get out – it felt so nice and comforting and who knew when it would happen again. But he had a sinking feeling Enjolras wanted to have a Conversation. (He had let Grantaire rebuff him every time before now, but what could Grantaire do now, run out the door to the masters? And his usual trick of pretending to be asleep wouldn’t work either.)

But time was running out, and it wouldn’t be fair to have Enjolras be the door guard when someone burst in, angry and looking for retribution. Grantaire kept carefully not looking at Enjolras after he dried off and wrapped a towel around himself, even though he knew Enjolras wouldn’t be deterred by the lack of eye contact if he were determined to talk. But Enjolras said nothing as Grantaire put on the boxers and plaid green pajama pants he had picked out and dragged the remaining hospital gown over his head. It felt odd to wear so many layers, but not as much as he expected – he imagined the context of the hospital was different enough from Master’s house that his brain could do some sort of mental gymnastics to manage it.

He still said nothing when the next thing Grantaire picked up was the hoodie he had picked out for Enjolras. Of course. He’d barely been able or allowed to do anything for Enjolras since they’d been in the hospital and now Enjolras had asked him to do something for him but of course Grantaire hadn’t done it right and now Enjolras must be angry or sad or disappointed or something not good and then they were going to leave and Éponine was going to talk to him and it would all make sense because he had just seen the proof with his own eyes and - 

Enjolras reached out and gently touched Grantaire’s wrist. Grantaire looked down at the hunter green sleeve on Enjolras’s arm. Oh. “I’m sorry, Grantaire,” he said quietly. “Was it too much?”

Yes, it was way too fucking much. Just in a different way. Grantaire looked up, planning to say something intelligent and logical but then he was properly looking at Enjolras, with his stupid damp hair and his stupid face and Grantaire’s stupid fucking green sweater on over his own gown. If Grantaire wore Enjolras’s hoodie, they would have to burn it and then find a radioactive site to scatter the ashes on afterwards. (They should probably do the same to Grantaire, just to be safe.) He should probably try to pretend to be somewhat normal and respond to Enjolras, like any other human being on the planet would do, but Grantaire was also pretty sure he’d cry if he opened his mouth. 

“Why do you think I wanted to wear your sweater, Grantaire?” Enjolras sounded patient, but like the kind he had to actively work to maintain because Grantaire was a nightmare to handle. And he really was a nightmare because he couldn’t even think of an answer to that question. But Enjolras had just started stroking his knuckles very gently. 

“Grantaire, if any single thing had gone differently that night, you would’ve died. It was pure luck we made it. And I keep – I keep worrying something will happen and I’m going to end up in some parallel universe where one thing went differently and you’re dead. I don’t know how could’ve – could’ve gone on – by myself.” Enjolras paused, like Grantaire would suddenly have something to add, but he didn’t. 

“Here,” Enjolras said, levering himself up and taking the hoodie. Grantaire felt like a child as Enjolras pushed his arms up and dressed him. He had imagined the sweatshirt would smell like Enjolras, but it obviously didn’t, clearly freshly washed and clean. It was just as cozy as it had looked though, and Grantaire wanted to curl up in it like a cat. Then Enjolras smiled, and it was real and genuine, and Grantaire wanted to curl up in that even more. 

Grantaire really wanted to say something now, something to match the gift, but then there were loud voices from outside the door, including one he didn’t recognize, and from Enjolras’s flinch, he knew it must be the police. 

Because while he was freaking out about who was wearing what, Enjolras had been preparing to take about an extremely traumatic event to a complete stranger, with masters presiding over the whole thing. (Now that he thought of it, they could just burn Grantaire while he wore the hoodie – it would save time.)

But now Enjolras was taking both his hands and squeezing gently. “Grantaire, I can’t do it unless I know you’re safe. Can I – can I hold you during?” It sounded nice, and it was so selfish to think about just how nice it would be when Enjolras was scared and stressed and only asking because he needed the comfort to avoid another breakdown that would have to end in punishment this time, but Enjolras was asking and that combined with the gentle touch and the intense look and the soft hoodie was more than Grantaire could resist.

He squeezed back.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, for some reason, I really struggled with this chapter. Hopefully it's not disappointing!

Grantaire swayed slightly as Enjolras helped him back to his feet. He didn’t know if the sudden fatigue came from his lingering illness or the prolonged bedrest (even if the actual number of days he’d been in bed was hazy and unclear), but just taking a shower was enough to exhaust him. Grantaire was impressed that Enjolras had walked the whole way from the ICU (except he wasn’t, not really, because he had no doubt Enjolras could probably walk across the country right now if he wanted to, but Grantaire was still impressed because he could be impressed by Enjolras eating a sandwich, probably.) 

Grantaire had expected Enjolras to let go as soon as he had regained his balance, but the other man simply wrapped an arm around him. Grantaire did his best to hold still, until Enjolras tugged at him slightly, and Grantaire (finally) got the message and leaned a little bit of his weight on Enjolras. Grantaire had to admit this would look better – for all the continuing confusion of what was expected of them, it was clear enough that the masters wanted both of them to heal, so they would probably allow the contact if it looked like Grantaire would fall without it. (It was rare that his weakness was actually so useful.)

Enjolras paused before unlocking the bathroom door, and Grantaire had to look away as he was inspected. He had carefully avoided looking at himself, but he knew it must be an awful sight. (Which was exactly why he had avoided the mirror, and it was so unfair Enjolras didn’t have an option. It was shame it would be impractical for the other man to go around blindfolded.) But instead of saying anything, Enjolras just gently kissed Grantaire’s forehead and then tugged the hood of the sweatshirt up over Grantaire’s head. Grantaire felt better immediately, the fabric filling in the gaps left by his haircut. 

Grantaire hadn’t known if he’d be able to keep his face blank while Enjolras was questioned. The idea that so much had happened while he was asleep was disconcerting, and the last thing Grantaire wanted to do was make this any harder on Enjolras than it needed to be. Enjolras kissed him one more time (and if he did it again he wouldn’t need to hold Grantaire up any longer because Grantaire would promptly melt into a puddle on the floor) and then led them out of the bathroom.

Grantaire was too terrified to look at the gathered crowd and just stared at the floor as Enjolras helped him back to the bed. The conversation had stopped, and Grantaire felt like everyone’s eyes were burning into them. Enjolras was expressionless, but when he wrapped Grantaire back up in a blanket, his hands were trembling. 

While Enjolras stalled for far too long by fussing with more blankets, Grantaire forced himself to look over Enjolras’s shoulder. A man in a police uniform was flipping through a file folder and had a notepad in his lap. He glanced up at them occasionally but didn’t seem hurried. Master Pontmercy was seated next to him, laptop balanced on his knees. He also looked at them now and then, though he was blushing slightly. (Was it arousing for him to watch Enjolras fuss over Grantaire but embarrassing because others were there? That didn’t make sense, but Grantaire couldn’t tell either way because of the laptop. He really, really hoped he was wrong – he was sick at the thought of Enjolras being forced to do this later. What a wonderful way to make sure Enjolras never went near him again unless he absolutely had to.) 

Master Prouvaire was curled up at the other end of the sofa, out of the way, though he was watching them steadily. When he noticed Grantaire looking at him, Master Prouvaire smiled gently. Grantaire quickly looked away. Dr. Joly and Mistress Fauchelevent had both pulled rolling stools over to the side, but they were far enough away it seemed like they didn’t mean to actively participate. It made sense that Dr. Joly was staying, but Grantaire didn’t understand why Mistress Fauchelevent would be there as well. Perhaps she just enjoyed watching them squirm.

Finally Enjolras was satisfied that Grantaire was properly tucked in (or probably decided getting the questioning over with was preferable to more contact with Grantaire) and turned to face the group, keeping Grantaire close against him. Grantaire took the moment to cover Enjolras’s hands with his own. It was so fucking wonderful, but Grantaire couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty.

As soon as the detective noticed Enjolras was ready and introduced himself, Enjolras immediately began to twist the bit of blanket under his hands. His face was still blank and his body still tense but cowered submissively, but his hands fretted away without him even being cognizant of it. This was all Grantaire could do for him right now, besides allow himself to be held (which was not a hardship at all and probably didn’t even count as a service rendered.) How he wished he knew what had happened so that he could take Enjolras’s place but instead all he could do was sit here uselessly. 

“OK, do you think you could tell me in your own words what happened, Enjolras?” the detective asked, smoothing out a sheet of paper. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

Enjolras plucked at the blanket furiously for a long time, so long Grantaire was sure someone was going to lose patience and punish them. (And since they didn’t seem interested in causing either of them pain right now and the room was already set up for Enjolras, that meant they would probably take Grantaire away somewhere, and Enjolras would become too incoherent to say anything, and Grantaire was too stupid to know what to do if that happened besides beg and-) 

“I needed help for Grantaire, so I took him away, sir,” Enjolras finally managed to rasp out.

There was a long pause. No one spoke. The detective still sat patiently, though Grantaire didn’t know what he was waiting for. Mistress Fauchelevent came forward and spoke quietly in the detective’s ear, though Master Pontmercy seemed to have heard as well, nodding a few times. 

The detective drew a line on his notepad. “Why don’t we work backwards? Can you tell me how you got to this hospital?”

“In a helicopter, sir,” and at least Enjolras sounded sure of his answer this time, though his hands continued their nervous dance. Grantaire wondered if he himself actually remembered that part as well, but the noise and hands touching him might very well just be from the ICU. He made himself stop thinking about it, not wanting to remember all the dreams and hallucinations that were still clear in his mind. 

“And how did you get to the helicopter?”

Enjolras took another long pause. “There was an ER, sir. I thought they could help.” He swallowed hard. “I would’ve done it myself, sir, but I didn’t know what to do.” The unspoken “this time” hung in the air, and Grantaire was sick. How could he think covering Enjolras’s nervous tics was adequate when Enjolras had had to save his life twice? What had he ever done it return? He almost wished one of the masters would get frustrated enough to take him away and deal with the problem more permanently. (Except Enjolras was so good the guilt would probably consume him completely, because Grantaire couldn’t ever leave him in peace.)

“Enjolras, any medical professional would’ve told you Grantaire needed to go the hospital immediately. There’s no need to feel guilty,” Dr. Joly said from the corner. Grantaire’s shoulders sagged in relief. Finally someone accepted that he bore all the blame for what had happened, instead of Enjolras (even if Grantaire did feel close to vomiting when he thought about what his punishment might be.) Enjolras’s hands stilled, and Grantaire knew the other man must be trying to twist the blame away.

“Yes, sir, it was my fault,” Grantaire quickly said, beating Enjolras to it. He knew Enjolras was giving him a Look, and it felt like a knife twisting in his chest, but it wouldn’t matter because when they punished Grantaire, he could think about how he had saved Enjolras and then Enjolras would probably try to look after him (Grantaire honestly hoped he would be too weak to protest at that point) and all would be forgotten, if not really forgiven.

“No, R, sweetheart,” said Master Prouvaire, unfolding himself slightly, looking on the verge of tears. “It’s not your fault you got sick.” Grantaire wished he had asked Éponine to stay instead. Enjolras started to squirm and Grantaire only managed to clamp a hand over his mouth because of the order that he had stacked their hands. Enjolras let out an angry grunt and began tugging at Grantaire’s arm.

“No, sir, please.” Master Prouvaire’s frowned, looking more confused than sad for a moment, but then it was gone. Of course Grantaire hadn’t been good enough. Why did he even think he would be? Enjolras was still alternating pulling his arm and trying to lick his hand (and the shame was so bright and hot Grantaire was almost overwhelmed enough to let go the firs time), so Grantaire had to try again.

“Please, sir, please. I promise it was my fault. I promise! Please, I’ll do whatever you want to prove it, sir. I swear.” Master Prouvaire’s face twisted again. Grantaire didn’t know what to do. He realized he had started to cry. It was humiliating, but all the more so because they wouldn’t listen to him. Why was he even there if he couldn’t do anything for Enjolras?

Enjolras finally wiggled free. Grantaire was so useless that he couldn’t even save Enjolras from himself. (He couldn’t stop crying either, but that hardly mattered at this point.) “No, Grantaire didn’t even know what was happening. You can’t blame him.”

“We’re not blaming anyone,” Mistress Fauchelevent said, quiet and calm. “There’s no blame to assign. We just want to know what happened. That’s all.”

Suddenly, Enjolras seized Grantaire more forcefully than before, crushing Grantaire against him with both arms. “I won’t say anything if you take him away,” Enjolras said, sounding wild and desperate.

The detective held up his hands placatingly. “No one is being taken away. And you’re not in any trouble. I’m only asking these questions to help us find whoever did this to you.” 

Master Pontmercy nodded. “I know it might be difficult to accept, but you’re both the victims here. It’s awful you have to go through this, but there’s no other way.”

Enjolras shuddered and then relaxed, the fight drained out of him. “I’m sorry, sir,” he mumbled finally, looking down. Grantaire bit his cheek until he tasted blood, but it quieted his tears. 

The detective returned to his questions, sometimes pressing Enjolras for more details, though if Enjolras repeated the same answer once or twice more, he backed off. (And now Grantaire knew why Enjolras had been so distressed about having to discuss this. All it would’ve taken was for Grantaire to stir or cough, and they both would’ve been caught. Who knows what the mailperson would’ve done if she had discovered two bloodied and abused men in her truck?) Whenever the detective stopped speaking to finish his notes about whatever Enjolras had just said, Enjolras squeezed Grantaire so hard he almost couldn’t breathe. The other man appeared on the verge of another breakdown. (Grantaire imagined what it would be like if he were forced to describe his nightmares to everyone, reliving what had felt so horrible and real. Except that that couldn’t even compare because Enjolras had actually gone through what he was describing.)

After what felt like an eternity, the detective seemed satisfied and packed his things. Master Pontmercy followed him out, the two of them in close conversation. Dr. Joly exchanged a look with Mistress Fauchelevent and left as well. She and Master Prouvaire then had some sort of silent conversation. Enjolras must have been too exhausted to tense up, though he did hold Grantaire a bit tighter. (Enjolras really needed to stop doing that, or Grantaire might actually die, and all this drama would be for naught.) 

“R, I promise neither of you are in any trouble. I just want to ask you a question.” Grantaire’s stomach dropped. He had done so many things wrong, but he couldn’t understand what he would need to be questioned about. They had even said they knew Grantaire didn’t know anything! “I promise I’m not upset,” Master Prouvaire went on, “but could you explain why you addressed me as sir earlier?”

Fuck. Grantaire considered lying, but Enjolras looked so stricken that he knew it would be obvious. But maybe a little lie wouldn’t be noticed. “I made – I made Enjolras tell me, sir,” Grantaire mumbled, freezing when he added the honorific out of habit. If Master Prouvaire didn’t like, which seemed very much to be the case, then the response probably sounded flip and sarcastic. There was no way they wouldn’t take Grantaire away now. But when Grantaire looked up, Master Prouvaire just looked more puzzled, though Mistress Fauchelevent was deep in thought. 

“You didn’t recognize Jehan either, then?” she asked. 

Grantaire looked desperately at Enjolras. Had the other man told him anything else that would be useful now? Grantaire didn’t think so, but those memories were fuzzy around the edges (and then were gobbled up by the shame of remembering how he had clambered all over Enjolras. He knew it was a spectacularly bad idea, but all his normal filters had been gone. Not that that made him any less disgusting.)

“Did you recognize Éponine?” Mistress Fauchelevent pressed. Grantaire cringed but shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about Éponine at all, but he had already ignored one question and couldn’t risk them threatening Enjolras to get him to answer. 

Mistress Fauchelevent tapped her chin and then scrolled through her phone. Once satisfied, she brought it over close enough for Grantaire to see. Enjolras made a faint sound and twisted away, releasing Grantaire in favor of burying his hands under the covers. Grantaire had a feeling it was a close thing that kept Enjolras from sliding his whole body under the blanket as well. Mistress Fauchelevent had selected a photo of a man with dark hair, who Grantaire didn’t recognize either. It was impossible to draw any conclusions about what the right answer might be from Enjolras, who was too terrified to even try communicating with Grantaire, so Grantaire just shook his head again.

“But you’ve recognized everyone else? Except for the hospital staff, of course.” Grantaire thought for a minute, worried it was a trick, but other than the police and staff, he had known who everyone was. There was always the possibility that other people could’ve been in the ICU, but he doubted that would be relevant to the question – Mistress Fauchelevent must know he could remember little and that what he did was almost useless. He nodded in agreement. She tucked her phone back in her pocket and Enjolras slowly ceased to tremble. 

“I still don’t understand, though,” Master Prouvaire said. “Regardless of how you remembered who I am, why did are you calling me sir?”

Grantaire swallowed. What was he supposed to use instead? If Master was still out there, he could come for Enjolras and Grantaire, and he would be livid to find them calling someone else by his title. (Enjolras had been gagged so many times in punishment for that digression, and each and every time it hurt Grantaire to see.) And besides, even if their new masters properly claimed them, Grantaire still had no idea who was in charge or if they were all equal or if it would maybe rotate, since there were so many. It was better to show less respect to each individual and wait to see what happened rather than guess and be wrong and make multiple people angry at once. At least this way he could plead ignorance. But that was a lot of shit to try to verbalize appropriately. 

“Because – because I need to be respectful, sir.” Grantaire flinched again, but he couldn’t not address Master Prouvaire properly. He just couldn’t. Maybe this was just an elaborate trick to test how obedient he could be? (But then why didn’t they just threaten to hurt Enjolras, and then they could see just how easy Grantaire was, how readily he would follow the smallest order, no matter how humiliating?) 

“R, I’m your friend! You don’t need to call me anything.” 

Grantaire felt exhausted. He had thought nothing could be worse than Master’s mind games, but this somehow was. He had no idea what anyone wanted from him. He had no idea what to do to make any of them happy. And if he didn’t know how to make them happy, they would get angry. And if they got angry, they would eventually hurt Enjolras, even if this whole mess was Grantaire’s fault. (He had even insisted that the blame belonged to him, but that had only led to this current problem. Why couldn’t he ever just keep his mouth shut? And look, right on cue, here came the tears again.)

It was just too much. It was both better and worse when Enjolras gently pet his side in comfort, like he too wasn’t caught in this confusing web. At least no one disturbed them while Grantaire cried himself out. (Even this was strange – if Master had watched Enjolras comfort Grantaire like this, he would’ve immediately broken them apart and then dealt with them separately, and probably would’ve kept Grantaire from tending to Enjolras for even longer to make sure the lesson sunk in for both of them. But now, as long as he didn’t cough or get too loud, they let Grantaire cry for as long as needed and didn’t stop Enjolras from soothing him.) 

Finally, it was over. Grantaire just wanted to be given more ibuprofen and allowed to sleep next to Enjolras. (And look at how greedy he had become in just a few days. With Master, he would’ve just been satisfied to see from afar that Enjolras was unhurt.) He turned his head when Master Prouvaire blew his nose and saw that he had been crying as well. Mistress Fauchelevent absent-mindedly handed Master Prouvaire another tissue, while scrolling through a different phone than before, probably Master Prouvaire’s.

Master Prouvaire noticed Grantaire had quieted down. “I’m really sorry, R,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to push you when you weren’t ready. I just wanted you to know I’m here to help and support you. Both of you.” Mistress Fauchelevent nodded along, though she hardly seemed to be listening. Master Prouvaire hesitated. “I think it’s really sweet you’re wearing each other’s clothes.” Grantaire wasn’t sure how this related to everything else, but his face grew hot, and Enjolras went bright pink as well. “I’m really glad you have each other.” (Despite everything that had just happened, Grantaire was now very glad indeed he had asked for Master Prouvaire over Éponine.) (He also wanted to protest that he wasn’t Enjolras’s, not in any meaningful way, but Enjolras had shyly started to stroke his knuckles and Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to say anything because he was literally the worst.)

Mistress Fauchelevent let out a cry of triumph. She showed whatever was on the phone to Master Prouvaire, who made a face but then nodded. She came back to the bed, though not as close as before, so Enjolras only let out a small whimper but didn’t try to hide this time. “Is that what you would’ve expected Jehan to look like? Other than being older, obviously.” 

Master Prouvaire did look quite a bit older than the picture Mistress Fauchelevent was showing them, but it was otherwise unmistakable. Master Prouvaire had a severe crew cut and was wearing a neat button-down. He also looked incredibly unhappy and uncomfortable. Enjolras had his eyes closed, determined to not even look, so Grantaire nodded for both of them. 

Mistress Fauchelevent gave Master Prouvaire his phone back, before leaning back on the couch and tapping her chin again. “Enjolras,” she said finally, “I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. When you saw Feuilly, you didn’t run from him, even when he first started to follow you.” Grantaire frowned, unsure who Feuilly was or why he would’ve been chasing Enjolras. It hadn’t come up with the detective, and since Mistress Fauchelevent had known about this, surely she would’ve brought it up as an omission. (Master Prouvaire had made that cryptic comment about Enjolras coming to find him. Was it related to that? What had even really happened? Grantaire wanted to ask next time he was alone with Enjolras, but he knew he couldn’t, not when it would undoubtedly upset the other man. And no one should ever get upset about Grantaire.)

“And the first…time, you talked to someone to find out where Grantaire was. And there would’ve been plenty of other people around then, too.” Grantaire felt himself flushing again. Enjolras hadn’t even known where he was and had come after him anyway? (But of course he did. He thought it was somehow his fault that Grantaire was dying - again. His conscience probably wouldn’t have let him rest until he was sure Grantaire would live. That’s all it was, that’s all it could be.)

“Is that why you locked me out the first time, Enjolras?” Master Prouvaire asked, sounding teary once again. “You didn’t know who I was so you weren’t worried about upsetting me?” This was getting even more confusing – Enjolras had dared to lock someone out to get to Grantaire? That would’ve been so much effort and so much risk, so much more than Grantaire deserved. “Are you scared of us because we’re…us?”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who had been hastily folding and unfolding the edge of the blanket. Grantaire knew the answer was yes, but everything the masters had just referenced had to do with Enjolras specifically, and the last thing Grantaire would do was answer for him without knowing the consequences. Enjolras let go of the blanket and started twisting his fingers together in what Grantaire knew was a painful way, and he couldn’t help himself from reaching out to stop the other man. (Well, yes, he totally could, but it sounded like a good enough excuse.)

Enjolras tensed up, now that the outlet for his anxiety had been removed. 

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, fair warning, I'm going on vacation (woohoo!), so it might be over a week before I update again. I hope this was not a too terrible place to leave you guys before the next chapter.
> 
> And since I am shameless about getting your opinions - how do people feel about a chapter from the perspective of the (other) Amis? I realize the problem without someone in the pairing being in the "master" role, there's a lot that gets discussed away from Enjolras and Grantaire. But I can find another way if that would be too jarring of a switch!


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned! With, uh, a bunch of words that don't include Enjolras or Grantaire directly. Did I spend way too much time considering how all of this would work in reality? Why yes I did. I tried to keep some personality in it to keep it from being a background research info dump - I hope it's enjoyable!
> 
> I guess a brief note on my headcanons for Bossuet and Musichetta. I usually see Bossuet assigned some sort of unnamed office job, so I made him an accountant, because we get like no representation in fics and that makes me sad. And I also decided to twist what seems to be a common J/B/M trope where Musichetta is a nurse and meets Joly that way (and Bossuet just falls from the sky I guess?) and make her some sort of business school degree that met Bossuet that way. (Also it's convenient for the plot, but w/e.)
> 
> Quick notes for non-US readers (again, no idea if any of this is well known, I just want to provide clarity!) - Medicaid is the free/cheap health insurance you can qualify for if your income is low enough (because this is 'Murica and I wanted to explain that poor E/R won't be saddled with crippling medical debt on top of everything else) and a Power of Attorney is someone you authorize to deal with your finances for you (some people choose family members, but it's also pretty common to use your lawyer or accountant). And Social Security Numbers are theoretically supposed to be to collect your benefits, but you basically can't adult without one. 
> 
> Even more rambles in the end notes!

Cosette ushered Jehan out of the hospital room and into the hallway. Jehan’s bottom lip was still wobbling a little, so she hugged them for a long time once the door had shut. “Do you want me to find somewhere more private?” she asked. “I’m sorry if I triggered your dysphoria.”

Jehan shook their head but left it pressed against her blouse. “I want to find whoever did this and make him feel some dysphoria.”

“What do you mean?” 

“He’ll feel like being dead but be kept very much alive.” Cosette laughed, happy to see Jehan was still confident enough in their identity after what had just transpired to joke about it. She laughed again when she looked up to see the security guard sitting near enough to hear looking bemused but also a little worried. Jehan pulled away and wiped their eyes. “I’m going to go clean up.”

“Alright. I’m going to let everyone know what happened and then try to find a room that will actually fit all of us.”

“You doubt Courf’s ability to turn the on-call room into an appropriately sized blanket fort?”

“I don’t, which is exactly why I’m going to find an alternative.” Jehan smiled a bit even as they wiped their eyes with their sleeve before walking away. Cosette turned to the security guard, who tried to school his still baffled expression into a more professional one. “I don’t think they’re going to do much more than sleep, but you’ll page one of us if something happens?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He frowned. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but my supervisor did tell me that there have already been, uh, a few incidents.” He threw up his hands before Cosette could speak. “We get regular training in how to de-escalate situations, I just want to make sure I don’t do more harm than good.”

Cosette wanted to frown as well, if for different reasons, but she made herself smile warmly. “I very much appreciate that. Please trust me when I say that shouldn’t be an issue for the moment.”

The guard looked skeptical but nodded. 

Cosette walked down the hall and found a bench near the family restroom Jehan must have gone into, before composing a text and sending it to the group. Joly responded so fast that he must have been staring at his phone already, saying that he, Musichetta, and Bossuet would meet them in a conference room available near the on-call room. Courfeyrac’s text came through very quickly as well, promising to get Combeferre some coffee before waking him up and joining them. Feuilly replied faster than she had expected, explaining he needed to finish mailing some projects and then would catch the next train. Marius sent some sort of garbled mess that Cosette knew meant he was probably trying to text and talk to the detective at the same time.

Bahorel responded with “FUCK DA POLICE” but gave no further elaboration as to what he meant. 

Éponine sent what most people would consider an excessive amount of emojis that made less sense to Cosette than what Marius had attempted to write with actual words, before adding that she was just finishing eating in the food court and would be up shortly. Cosette was tempted to text her separately to praise her self-care, except she couldn’t think of a way to do it without sounding saccharine and patronizing.

Jehan emerged from the bathroom, looking considerably calmer, if not necessarily more relaxed. She offered them her arm. “Shall we?” 

Cosette felt like a salmon swimming upstream as they walked in the opposite direction of all the hospital employees who worked normal business hours and were leaving for the day. By the time they reached the conference room Joly had secured, Courfeyrac had not only had time to rouse Combeferre but to draw two giant, multicolored Venn diagrams. Two circles on each were labeled Éponine and Feuilly, while the third circle on the first diagram said Jehan and had several flowers drawn around the name while the third circle on the second diagram said Jean Prouvaire. With that task complete, Courfeyrac had apparently taken it upon himself to construct a giant wand from all the dry erase markers in the room.

Cosette sat down next to Combeferre, who was nursing his coffee and watching Courfeyrac in sleepy amusement, though he became grave and turned to her. “How did we miss this?”

“Just because we know the psycho who had them messed them up, that still doesn’t mean we’re mind readers,” Courfeyrac replied, tipping his chair back as he surveyed the whiteboard. 

“Hmm, that sounds like the reason we didn’t realize Enjolras would try to go to the ICU again,” Combeferre said pointedly, covering his mouth with his coffee cup. Courfeyrac pursed his lips and then dropped his chair back down with a sigh.

“How are they doing?” Joly asked, before the ensuing silence could get too long or uncomfortable. 

Cosette paused. “I hate to assume how they’re feeling, but I imagine at the very least that they’re tired and drained. Hopefully they’ll be able to get some sleep at least.”

“You’re really sure they won’t try to leave?” Jehan asked from where they had started braiding Musichetta’s hair.

Cosette tilted her head and looked at Joly. “You saw them most recently. Do you think Grantaire would be have the strength to go anywhere?”

Joly rolled his cane back and forth in his hand as he thought. “While it seemed like they were perhaps playing up how exhausted Grantaire was after his shower, I don’t think it really required that much acting. I’m sure if there was an emergency, or what Grantaire perceived as an emergency, he could probably get out of bed and walk, but even going to the end of the hall would likely be too much for him.”

“Then yes,” Cosette said, “I’m confident they won’t go anywhere.”

“You don’t think Enjolras would leave without Grantaire?” Éponine asked from the doorway, where she had been silently leaning for at least the last part of the conversation.

Cosette looked around the room at everyone and paused again. Combeferre and Joly had been very forthcoming with their prognoses of Enjolras and Grantaire, and it seemed unfair to hold hers back, just because dealing with the mind was less straightforward than the body. “Again, I hate to pass judgment without actually talking to Enjolras about this directly, but I have a strong suspicion he has developed Adult Separation Anxiety. If Grantaire isn’t up to moving, then Enjolras won’t be able to either, just in another sense.”

Jehan stopped their braiding and looked off into the distance until they were a little more collected. “Is that why you think Enjolras was worried we were going to take Grantaire away?” 

Combeferre frowned, but Cosette shook her head before he could speak. “No, Combeferre, Enjolras specifically mentioned he would refuse to talk to the detective this time if Grantaire was taken away. I don’t think it’s necessarily related to when he woke up at the hospital. I can only suppose this was used as a…punishment of some sort.”

Combeferre pinched his nose. “I know I failed in explaining what was going on to Enjolras,” and here Éponine nodded silently in agreement, though less aggressively than Cosette would’ve expected, “but now what seemed like almost hysterical behavior at the time now sounds much more rational from his perspective.”

“Is there anything we can do at this point to make him feel more at ease?” Joly asked.

“We could remind him that Grantaire would probably cut his own arm off before leaving him of his own free will,” Éponine said, though she didn’t smile as she said it. 

“Not directly, no,” Cosette replied, even as she fit more pieces of the puzzle together in her mind. “Separation anxiety in adults is unfortunately underdiagnosed and undertreated, so there’s not a very large body of work to reference. But I think Combeferre is right - Enjolras’s fears aren’t really irrational, at least in the context of him thinking we mean to continue the abuse, so my hope would be that with enough therapy to deal with the overall trauma, the separation anxiety will ease on its own.”

She paused as everyone digested this. “Éponine, what you said about Grantaire, do you think his feelings for Enjolras are more…intense than before?”

“Cosette, I know you and Marius have your own magical fairytale of love, but even us mortals don’t exactly rate our affection on a simple one to ten scale,” Éponine snapped. 

“What about the soup…thing?” Jehan said quietly, and Cosette wondered what could render them so ineloquent. 

Éponine’s frown deepened. “What happened?” asked Cosette gently when Éponine remained silent. Reminding Éponine they had agreed to share anything of note hardly seemed productive at this point. 

Éponine let out an explosive sigh. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding frustrated and angry, though Cosette knew it was directed at herself and not Grantaire. “I was trying to get them to eat what Joly said was the right amount of food, but Grantaire kept trying to give his to Enjolras, so I tried to tell him that Enjolras wouldn’t go hungry any more, but that definitely triggered Grantaire, somehow.”

Cosette tapped her chin as she turned this over in her mind. “So you essentially told Grantaire to stop doing something considerate for Enjolras?” 

“I guess. I don’t know. I just wanted them to eat.” Éponine pushed her hands through her hair. “They’re just so - I thought maybe they were starved as another…punishment. I just wanted them to know we wouldn’t do that. Though I guess now maybe I just confused them.”

“But they apparently don’t have any preconceived notion of how you’re going to act,” Courfeyrac pointed out, waving his marker wand at the whiteboard. 

“No, I don’t think it had to do with who said it, not really,” Cosette interjected, before anyone else could leap in. “Again, this is just a guess, but I think Grantaire has become extremely codependent on Enjolras.”

“Is this supposed to be some earth-shattering revelation, Cosette?” Éponine asked churlishly.

“Well, I admit I wasn’t extremely close with Grantaire before, but it seemed that while he obviously loved Enjolras, he still had healthy boundaries in place for what was at that time only reciprocated as friendship.”

“He went to therapy,” Jehan said softly. “I know they talked about his feelings for Enjolras. I think Grantaire was encouraged to keep up all the activities he enjoyed, even if he didn’t necessarily feel like it. I think I can see if left alone, well, mentally alone, but physically with Enjolras, how Grantaire wouldn’t be able to maintain a sense of identity outside of whatever their relationship became.”

“Did he take any medication?” Cosette asked.

“He couldn’t afford that and therapy, and he said he’d rather stay with what he knew helped.” Jehan shook their head. “Is it like the separation anxiety? Will the codependency fade as everything else is treated?”

Cosette sighed. “Again, there isn’t exactly a lot of useful information available out there. People with codependency tend to choose partners who are abusive or have some kind of destructive addiction. I think it’s safe to say neither of those apply to Enjolras, so a lot of the recommendations weren’t exactly applicable.”

“It’s almost ironic, isn’t it,” Musichetta asked, speaking for the first time. “Neither of them wants to leave the other, but yet each of their greatest fears is that loss.”

“I suppose that’s how their captor’s psychological control was most effective,” Combeferre cleaned his glasses angrily.

“But how can we fix it?” Jehan asked sadly. “They’re so afraid of us, I can’t imagine they’d be willing to proceed with whatever treatment Cosette ultimately recommends.”

“That’s why I made these,” Courfeyrac said, becoming more animated as he waved the markers around again, narrowly missing hitting Éponine upside the head. “I thought if we could find the link, we could figure out how they were brainwashed, and then we can approach Enjolras and Grantaire from their point of view.” He looked at Cosette for confirmation. “Though I admit they’d be more helpful if I could think of anything useful to fill them in with. I can’t think of anything that applies to all three.”

“Well, there’s some debate as to whether brainwashing is even real,” Cosette admitted, “so once again there’s not exactly much for me to base my treatment plan off of.”

“Did this fucker purposely find everything that would be hard for us to treat?” Éponine grumbled, sinking down in her chair and folding her arms.

Cosette couldn’t help a small laugh. “It does appear that way, I suppose, but it doesn’t mean we’re totally helpless. We know Enjolras and Grantaire very well, and while I can see how someone’s ideas and even memories could be warped and manipulated, it is extremely difficult to erase an entire personality. Whatever we decide to do, I think we need to approach it in a way we would have expected our friends to have listened to before. Though now we should also keep in mind how intertwined they are, because that’s the reality, regardless of how healthy it is in the long-term.”

“Hello,” said Feuilly, as he tapped on the door and then squeezed his way in to sit next to Bossuet. “What did I miss?”

“We’re trying to figure out how to make Enjolras and Grantaire realize they’re safe.” Courfeyrac stretched out his markers until Feuilly took the top one, before shoving it towards Jehan and then Éponine. “Do the three of you have any suggestions?”

“Do we know how they distinguish between Jehan and Jean Prouvaire?” Feuilly asked. “That seems like that might be the crux of the issue.”

Cosette looked over at Jehan, who had started braiding their own hair. They paused and then dropped their hands into their lap. “It’s almost funny, since R is the one who I’ve probably told the most about this. That’s why – that’s why I knew something was really wrong when he insisted on calling me sir. I thought maybe he did it to everyone else he perceived as male because he was just scared, but the Grantaire I know wouldn’t do that to me unless he really thought I was someone else.

“I keep a picture of how I looked before college on my phone for when I sometimes don’t feel…right, because even if I have a bad day now, it’s still not nearly as bad as I felt then.” Courfeyrac scooted his chair around so that he could manage to hug Jehan. 

“When was the last time you looked like that, Jehan?” Combeferre asked gently.

Courfeyrac let go of Jehan but didn’t move away. “I guess at the beginning of college. My parents didn’t know, and I didn’t exactly want to have to move in on my own after being kicked out, so I waited to tell them.” Courfeyrac rubbed their shoulder as Jehan managed to look up at the group and smile. “Now would be much different.”

“You think it has something to do with us not going to college?” Éponine asked, gesturing at Feuilly. 

“I’m not sure. It is an obvious connection you and Feuilly share and it’s something an average person could find out.”

“But this person also knew what we looked like,” Jehan pointed out. “That’s what brought this whole thing on. Even if whoever had them checked the alumni directory or something, that part still needs to be explained.”

“Do I hear more things need to be researched?” Marius asked, shuffling in behind the chairs and kissing the top of Cosette’s head as he went by. She reached up to squeeze his hand after he set everything down on the table and pushed a sandwich over to her.

“We need to know how the not-so-friendly neighborhood creep found pictures of us to brainwash Enjolras and Grantaire with. We think they have to be older, since Jehan couldn’t have been much more than a baby freshman in them,” Courfeyrac summarized, pulling a wad of napkins out of his bag and sliding them over to Marius as Marius unwrapped his own sandwich. Cosette generally thought it was patronizing to call someone a work husband, but she was also thankful Courfeyrac could anticipate Marius’s special brand of clumsiness without even consciously considering it.

“Have we considered just asking them?” Marius spoke around an overly large mouthful of food. “It sounds like at least Enjolras is fairly comfortable with Éponine?”

“We could,” Cosette conceded, “but I think it would be better not to address the issue with them until we have a better idea of how to disabuse them of whatever terrible things they’re thinking. I wouldn’t be shocked to find out they have been made to believe we might try to ‘pretend’ to be nice as a trick. It would’ve been a lot of work to re-program them to be this way, and I doubt whoever did it would want it to be so easy to undo it.”

“How the fuck do the two of you actually do this for a living?” Bahorel half-yelled, stomping into the room and dripping melted snow from his coat, as he dropped a stack of papers on to a clear patch of the conference table. Cosette tore off part of her sandwich and slid it down to him, and he practically inhaled it in one bite.

“I see you had an enjoyable day at court,” Éponine laughed, ignoring Bahorel’s glare, and now Cosette understand Bahorel’s text from earlier a little better.

“No, like, for real, guys. I don’t understand. It’s like they think about what would make sense and then do the exact opposite just to be contrary.”

“I suppose you get used to it the more you do it,” Marius offered in response.

“Did you make any progress?” Combeferre asked before Bahorel could really get going.

Bahorel buried his face in his hands and composed himself. “OK. So when New York says there’s not a way to undo someone’s death in absentia, they really mean there’s not a way. The first person I talked to tried to tell me it was impossible. Like Enjolras and Grantaire are supposed to just be weird ghost people the rest of their lives or something.”

Jehan frowned. “That’s awful. Did you find anyone more helpful?” 

Bahorel laughed. “Yeah, as much of an asshole as Javert can be, I thought he was going to have a heart attack when I pointed out to him that he would technically have dead people testifying in court. I don’t know what he did, but he got me in with some judge who decided as long as we could definitively prove Enjolras and Grantaire are, well, Enjolras and Grantaire, that he’ll revoke their death certificates.”

“It’s probably going to be something annoying and stupid, isn’t it?” Éponine asked.

“Points for you. Yes.” Bahorel shuffled his papers and pulled out two sets of forms. “I finally got the guy to agree that matching dental records would be acceptable proof. We’re supposed to have Enjolras and Grantaire sign these so that we can get their last X-rays from their old dentists and then we need to take new ones here.” He paused and drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’m fine to forge their signatures or whatever to keep from upsetting them, but I assume taking the X-rays will still be…traumatic.”

“We can have a dental technician come to their room with a portable X-ray machine,” Joly explained, “but they still should be alone when it happens.” He looked over at Cosette. “I know it will probably be terribly hard for them, but I don’t think the radiation exposure risk is worth the benefit, and I don’t feel like either of them really have the mental capacity to make their own choice about it.”

Cosette considered this. “I agree. Perhaps this would be a good opportunity for us to demonstrate to them that we’re not going to hurt them, even if we don’t actually talk about it. Jehan, would you be willing to help again? I hope Enjolras will remember he had to leave for an X-ray before and that brought him back in right away.” 

“Of course.” Jehan nodded.

“How long will the process take once you have what you need, Bahorel?” asked Bossuet, speaking for the first time. 

“Once the judge pulls his head out of his ass and issues a ruling? I assume I should get something in writing from the court that day, and then there’s supposed to be a short turn-around for their Social Security Numbers to be reinstated.” Bahorel looked over at Combeferre. “Is there a huge rush? I thought you said we had three months to get everything sorted out for Medicaid?”

“Oh, that’s right.” Bossuet nodded. “But as not-fun as I’m sure your job was, at least you don’t have to call the IRS and explain you need to file returns for people who were not-dead and then declared dead but are really not-dead after all. Though at this point I’m just going to assume it’ll be January by the time I can talk to them, since that’s when everyone else will be trying to get their questions answered too.” He smiled sadly. “I also don’t really feel comfortable asking them to designate me as their Power of Attorney at this point. Even if they only think I would hurt them physically or mentally, I don’t like the implication that I could financially abuse them as well.”

Silence descended over the room as everyone thought over what Bossuet had said. When it got almost unbearable, Marius spoke up. “Ummm, should I share what I talked about with the police now?”

Cosette reached over to squeeze his hand. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Marius cleared his throat. “Well, everything should be a lot easier now that Enjolras told us what happened. The detective obviously didn’t know at this point if there will be security footage from the parking lot, but even if there’s not, we know the exact time they got to the ER and from there we can get a very good estimate on when they got to the post office. I think it should be pretty easy for the police to identify which truck they hid on and what its last stop was.”

“Has Valjean made any progress on his own?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Well, he had that huge list,” Marius replied, “but I sent him all the new information, and I think knowing Enjolras and Grantaire were much further from the ER than we thought will help narrow it down. I don’t think he’s slept at all. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he figures it out before the police do.” Cosette frowned even as Marius attempted to smile at her. “I tried to tell him to be careful, but I think he pretended not to hear me, even though I said it like five times.”

“I hate to pile on,” said Musichetta, moving her braid from one shoulder to the other, “but are we going to talk about the press?”

“How bad was it when you come today?” asked Joly, looking slightly worried. 

“Not as bad as we expected,” said Bossuet. “I thought for sure they would recognize me, but I guess not. They’re basically just camped outside and waiting. They must think Enjolras and Grantaire will come out sooner or later.” Cosette noticed Marius making some sort of note on his phone out of the corner of her eye.

“But they’re so sick!” exclaimed Jehan, looking slightly sick as well. 

“To be fair, they don’t know that.” Muschietta pulled out her phone and started scrolling through it. “I’ve been trying to read every article that gets posted, but so far all anyone talks about is the anonymous tip that they’re here and then a quote from the hospital saying they don’t comment on patients.” She looked up. “Enjolras and Grantaire could be in a hospital in Antarctica and they’d probably say that, but it’s easy for the press to spin it so the average person takes it as incontrovertible proof they’re here.”

“Maybe this is one problem we can actually solve,” Éponine said thoughtfully. “I know, I know, security’s great and whatever, but I for one would sleep better knowing no one will come around trying to harangue the two of them.”

Combeferre started wiping his glasses off slowly before finally putting them back on. “The average person who comes to the hospital with pneumonia is only here for a few days.”

The small smile on Musichetta’s face grew wider. “You’re suggesting we send in our own tip?”

“But how will we say they left the hospital?” Joly frowned.

“We’ll just give them something else to worry about instead. Like where they’ve gone to.” Éponine nodded to herself as she talked. 

“I know they weren’t ready to pick a place to live when we first talked about,” Combeferre said, “so I think we should choose some sort of neutral location so that we don’t take any of their choices away.”

Cosette saw Marius looking at her from the corner of his eye, and she smiled. “Why don’t we say they’ve gone to Dad’s spare apartment?”

“But Jean doesn’t really like people talking about his charity work,” Marius said, trying to play devil’s advocate even though he clearly had had the same idea, “and I’m sure the press will figure out we’ve sent them to stake out a residence owned by one of the hospital’s major donors.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll say it was all my idea.” Cosette squeezed Marius’s hand again. 

Feuilly rubbed his hands together. “I know plenty of people who are always looking for more work.” Cosette chose to not point out Feuilly was one of those people. “All we really need is two men who are the correct height, right? I assume we’ll keep all the curtains shut.”

“I think we should also get someone to go, maybe once or twice a day, and pretend to be an aide or something similar,” added Combeferre. “If this were reality, they probably wouldn’t need any skilled nursing care, but I would never discharge someone in that situation home alone if I could help it.”

“I’ll do it,” Éponine volunteered, looking determined. “As much as I want to be here, I also want to actually do something productive. Musichetta, is there anything in particular I should know?”

The other woman shook her head. “I trust your judgment. Just remember, if you say anything to anyone, it could get spun a thousand different ways.”

Éponine stood up. “Alright. I’ll go call someone who knows someone who knows someone to say Enjolras and Grantaire left early this evening. Hopefully by the morning they’ll all have moved on.”

Cosette nodded. “Feuilly, I’ll call the landlord and give an…abridged explanation and ask for him to have a spare set of keys for you once you find your stand-ins.”

Courfeyrac was already typing on his phone. “We should probably tell the hospital and police what’s going on too, right?”

Cosette was about to agree when Éponine abruptly shook her head. “No. We still don’t know who leaked the information in the first place. If we tell the hospital and police, it might just happen all over again, and we’ll lose our advantage.”

“I have to agree,” said Combeferre. “I doubt anyone here that knows what’s actually going on would believe Joly or I would discharge Enjolras or Grantaire at this point, let alone both of them at once. I assume the police would be the same?”

“I would imagine so,” answered Marius. “Besides, Enjolras and Grantaire are the victims. I don’t think the police care all that much where they actually are. I suppose they’ll probably be willing to provide extra security for them once they actually leave, but it’s not like they couldn’t decline if they wanted.”

“That’s settled then.” Éponine clapped her hands together.

“Why don’t I go check on them?” Combeferre offered, looking at Joly. “You should get some rest.”

Joly looked ready to protest, but Musichetta was faster. “Thank you, Combeferre. That’s an excellent suggestion.”

Cosette stood up as well. “Would you like to come with as well, Bahorel, Jehan? Hopefully together we can make them understand what you need.”

He stood up and stacked his papers. “As much as I would like to join Éponine and leave the press a very un-anonymous tip about how they can go fuck themselves, this is probably a better use of my time.”

“I really appreciate that,” Cosette said, because she knew it was a real effort on Bahorel’s part to restrain himself. “Let’s go bring them back to life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So most states in the US don't declare someone dead in absentia until after seven years have passed (unless it's safe to assume they died in some sort of accident or natural disaster), but it's three years in New York. And there really is no defined way to undo it. I could only find one article referencing someone who needed to, and he proved his identity with a paternity test with children he fathered before his disappearance. Since that obviously couldn't work here, I took a little creative liberty. (I figured if dental records can be used for murder victims, it would probably work fine for living people as well?)
> 
> I also assumed Enjolras and Grantaire would have enough passive income, even if it was just interest on their bank accounts, while they were gone that they should've filed taxes. I know Grantaire is usually depicted as poor, but you get a form in the US as long it's over $10 of interest, and it's not like Grantaire was actually spending anything.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter this time, but I caught the dreaded post-marathon/post-trip cold and couldn't manage anything more. (I almost feel bad now for how sick I made poor Grantaire, since I'm being such a baby about a minor illness, except I'm not because angst.) 
> 
> I'm sorry I couldn't help myself when it came to the cliffhanger. I promise we will get back to Enjolras next chapter and get it resolved!

Cosette waited for the elevator with Bahorel, Combeferre, and Jehan. Jehan had wrapped their arms around themselves and was gazing blankly out the window. Cosette gently touched their shoulder to avoid startling them and then gave them a brief hug. Jehan came out of their reverie and looked up at her.

“Maybe it would be better if I stayed behind,” they said quietly, though loud enough that both Bahorel and Combeferre turned around. “You’re going to need Grantaire and Enjolras to stay calm, and it seems all I do is frighten them.”

Cosette would have given Jehan another hug except that Combeferre did it first, even if the height difference made it slightly awkward. “Jehan, it’s perfectly normal to feel guilty for upsetting your friends, but you can’t blame yourself. You certainly aren’t doing it on purpose. They’re probably more upset at the contradiction you create in their minds, not at anything you’re doing specifically,” she said.

Combeferre released Jehan and gave their shoulder another squeeze. “Besides, you were there last time Grantaire had an X-ray. Enjolras might listen if you’re the one to tell him what will happen.”

The elevator binged and they all climbed on “What should I say, Cosette?” Bahorel asked. “What’s the best way to explain this to them? Will they understand? Do they even have the capacity to understand?”

Cosette thought as the elevator climbed. “I think it’s important to remember their response will probably seem irrational to us, but to them it’s all learned. I know you usually volunteer with older kids, Bahorel, but have you ever had one of them get incredibly afraid of something that you, as an adult, know won’t happen but that kid is so convinced their fear is real that there’s almost no talking them down?” Bahorel nodded, and from his face it was clear he knew exactly what Cosette meant. “Try to think of it like that. While it would be wonderful if this time we were able to make them see we don’t mean any harm, I honestly don’t think they’re well enough, physically or mentally, to process it. I think the best we can do is try to comfort them and show through our actions this isn’t meant to hurt them.”

“That’s all well and good, but how do I even start this conversation?” Bahorel rubbed his forehead, almost angrily. The elevator stopped and they all got off, winding their way through the ward to Enjolras and Grantaire’s room. The security guard at the end of the hall, who had been relieved while they were gone, gave them a small wave of acknowledgement. 

“I wish I had a better answer for that,” Cosette admitted. “I think we should see what the current situation is and then go from there.”

“If it’s not a problem,” Combeferre said, “I would like them to eat a little something first. I thought about waiting until we were done, but I don’t want them to think being fed is correlated to their behavior?” He asked the last part as a question, looking over at Cosette.

“Yes, I think that’s a very good idea,” she agreed. “Especially until we find out what sort of ‘rules’ they had for eating. It’s obvious they weren’t fed nearly enough in general, but I would guess food was probably also used as a means of controlling them.”

They reached the closed door to the hospital room. The security guard from earlier was still in his chair. “Hello again,” he greeted them. He nodded specifically at Cosette. “To be honest, I heard them talking a bit and then the bedrail being lowered later and I thought for sure something would happen, but,” he shrugged, “you were completely right. They haven’t tried to leave.” 

Cosette and Combeferre looked at each other. “Could you hear what they were saying?” she asked. It was a little closer to eavesdropping than she normally would’ve felt comfortable with when adult patients were involved, but she also needed any information about what Enjolras and Grantaire were thinking that she could get.

“Nah, it was way too quiet for that. They didn’t sound very happy, but that’s all I can tell you.” He shrugged again.

“Did anyone else come by?” Jehan asked, voice full of concern.

The security guard still seemed a little unnerved after the earlier conversation Cosette had had with them. “Nope. Just the shift change for my colleagues down the hall. Otherwise it’s been all quiet.”

“Thank you. We really appreciate it,” Cosette said. Combeferre took a deep breath and then opened the door, leading them in. 

Cosette hadn’t been sure what they would find, though she was fairly certain her friends would probably be asleep or attempting to sleep, after all the earlier turmoil. This was the case for Enjolras, who was curled up his side, back facing them, a mass of blankets pulled up under his chin. Cosette briefly entertained the idea that Enjolras was just faking sleep again, but she didn’t think he’d choose that position, since he wouldn’t be able to see anything, even if his eyes were open.

Grantaire, on the other hand, was sitting mostly upright and watching them from under his eyelashes. It was so difficult to guess what he was thinking, as his face was completely blank and his eyes hidden. Cosette’s first thought was the pair had decided to sleep in turns, acting almost as sentries for one another. However, once Jehan had shut the door behind the group and settled on the couch with Cosette and Bahorel, Grantaire actually relaxed slightly and made no move to wake Enjolras. 

Cosette paid more attention to the details of the scene in front of her now, since her initial guess had been incorrect. She looked again at the blankets, which were no longer equally distributed, like a few had migrated from Grantaire’s side over to Enjolras’s. This seemed proof enough Enjolras had not expected Grantaire to remain awake. He had been nothing if not attentive to Grantaire’s needs, and Cosette highly doubted this is something Enjolras would have wanted or allowed without protest.

The hood of Enjolras’s sweatshirt has also been drawn more firmly over Grantaire’s head, lower on his forehead now so that none of his hair was visible, and the strings were knotted under his chin to keep it in place. Cosette couldn’t see Grantaire doing this for himself, though she could easily picture Enjolras doing it for him in preparation for sleep. Their ingrained rules about hair touching were still a mystery, but Cosette wondered if Grantaire felt more secure with his head covered, at least while vulnerable and unconscious. 

The security guard had been correct, and the bedrail behind Grantaire was indeed lowered. Cosette had a feeling that if she understood why that had been done, she would understand a lot more of what was happening right now. Her only thought was that Grantaire wanted to be prepared to get up quickly, though he hadn’t done so while alone or when they had returned. They had explained about the extra security, and she thought Grantaire was aware enough to understand he was safe from unwanted visitors, but maybe that was an erroneous assumption.

Besides, the guard had said he heard the sound after Grantaire and Enjolras had stopped talking, and Cosette wondered if Grantaire had done it after Enjolras had fallen asleep. That made it seem like the preparations to leave were predicated on a specific fear of Grantaire, but she still knew so little and couldn’t guess the difference. At the very least, it was an important reminder that, as wrapped in each other as the pair were, they were still capable of disagreement. 

“Hello, Grantaire,” she said, sitting between Bahorel and Jehan on the couch, while Combeferre moved around the room, doing whatever doctor things he needed to take care of. Bahorel shifted a bit next to her, uncomfortable when Grantaire stayed silent instead of responding. His relationship with Grantaire had always been loud and boisterous, and this was just about the exact opposite, but Bahorel waited quietly nevertheless. Cosette imagined it was difficult for her friends to practice this sort of silence, always leaving a space for the other person to respond despite knowing the chance they would was slim, as it honestly was very awkward and they didn’t have nearly as much practice at it as she did. 

Combeferre came up behind her. “Should I wait?” he asked very softly. Cosette nodded. While one of the first things she wanted to work with Grantaire on was eating separately from Enjolras, at least some of the time, given how stressful this encounter would be, she didn’t want to push him too hard too soon. 

“But don’t fix the bedrail,” she replied just as quietly. Combeferre paused but then nodded. He did bring a bottle of water over to Grantaire, who took it gingerly in one hand but made no move to drink it, even after Combeferre placed another bottle next to Enjolras. 

Combeferre adjusted his glasses briefly. “Grantaire, it’s important for you to stay hydrated. Do you feel up to drinking that for me?”

There was another long pause while Grantaire considered this. Cosette wondered if he was used to direct orders rather than gentle suggestions phrased as questions, but she didn’t want Enjolras or Grantaire to get used to their friends speaking to them in that way, even before she had known they specifically expected that. Finally, very slowly, Grantaire opened the bottle and took a small sip, his hand trembling. After the initial drink, Grantaire returned to stillness, watching Combeferre intently for his reaction. “Very good, Grantaire,” the doctor praised him. “Can you drink the rest for me?”

Grantaire complied, though he stopped every so often to watch them. Once finished, Grantaire set the bottle on the bedside table, groping blindly behind him to find it, clearly unwilling to turn his back. The plastic crinkled a bit in his hand and Enjolras stirred, mumbling something incomprehensible in his sleep. 

The change that came over Grantaire was almost frightening in its suddenness and intensity. His carefully cultivated neutral expression fell into one of concern as he gently stroked Enjolras’s forehead until the other man settled back down. Grantaire fussed with the blankets then, for much longer than Cosette thought was strictly necessary, since Enjolras had not moved very much. When Grantaire decided he was finished, he scooted away from Enjolras and only then remembered his audience. It almost hurt Cosette to see the look of terror that flashed across his face before he returned to that total blankness, but she forced herself to remain an objective observer, at least as much as was possible.

Grantaire had been so vulnerable and open, so unlike how he normally was around them, while tending to Enjolras that she wondered if this activity had only been carried out in privacy, if not in secrecy as well. She wondered if this had been to conceal any shared comfort from their captor or if it was a conscious choice on Grantaire’s part. 

Bahorel had busied himself with his papers when Grantaire had started soothing Enjolras, probably feeling too voyeuristic to watch such an intimate interaction. Cosette nudged his knee, and he looked up at her before steadying himself. “Hi, Grantaire,” he said, sounding slightly strained and fidgeting a bit when Grantaire only silently stared at him in response. Bahorel looked at Cosette again and she just nodded at him. He shuffled his papers again before turning back to Grantaire.

“Alright, um, OK, so, Grantaire,” Bahorel started before faltering. Jehan reached over Cosette to squeeze his arm, and Bahorel did settle a bit. “Let me start again,” Bahorel said, suddenly sounding more confident and professional, and Cosette wondered if this was the voice he employed on the occasions he actually used his law degree.

“You understand you’ve been missing for a long time, right, Grantaire?” Grantaire nodded slowly. Cosette wondered how functional Grantaire’s perception of time really was. “OK, well, it was so long that the government thought you weren’t going to be found.” Cosette noticed Bahorel’s choice to use the word government and the heavy emphasis he placed upon it, though Grantaire did not react. Cosette wasn’t sure how she felt about Bahorel not telling the full truth like this.

“We need to sort some things out and to do that we need to prove that you are, well, who you are. How would you feel about me getting X-rays from your old dentist and then taking some new ones now? I can’t, and I won’t, do it without your permission.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows knit together when Bahorel said permission, but it was cleared quickly away. “I’ll be good, sir,” Grantaire said, very quiet and submissive. He looked down at Enjolras as he spoke.

“Grantaire, we’ll need to ask Enjolras the same thing when he wakes up,” Cosette clarified. 

Grantaire looked up properly this time, eyes instantly filling with tears. It seemed like no amount of gentleness or kindness would be enough until Grantaire realized they didn’t mean to hurt them. “Please don’t hurt Enjolras,” he begged, “I promise I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll do whatever you want, sir.” 

“Grantaire, it’s not about being good-” Bahorel started to say, though he stopped when Grantaire began to cry in earnest. Grantaire covered his face with his free hand and made an effort to stay as quiet and still as possible, but the sound and faint movement together were enough to rouse Enjolras.

Cosette couldn’t see his facial expression, but he got very tense and squirmed out of his blanket pile until he could pull Grantaire to him. Grantaire made one more attempt to control himself, but then collapsed into Enjolras and truly dissolved into tears. It sounded like Grantaire was gasping out words between sobs, though Cosette couldn’t make them out.

She gently touched Jehan’s knee, pulling them from the silent ball they had curled into. They hesitated and then got up and went to the bed, carefully standing a fair distance away. “Enjolras,” they said softly, though Enjolras did nothing except to continue to rock Grantaire. “Enjolras,” Jehan said again, louder this time. Enjolras startled but did turn his head, and Cosette didn’t know if he had ignored Jehan the first time or just actually not heard them.

“Enjolras, there’s just been a misunderstanding. We didn’t mean to upset Grantaire. We just need to do some more X-rays, alright?” 

Enjolras’s face darkened, and Grantaire continued to cry. Cosette worried he was going to make himself sick if he didn’t calm down soon, but she knew Combeferre must be monitoring this better than she could. “Enjolras, it will be just like last time,” Jehan tried, somehow speaking even more gently than before. “We can sit right outside in the hall while we wait, and before you know it, the two of you will be back together.”

There was a long silence, broken only by Grantaire’s muffled sobs. “Enjolras, do you understand?” Jehan pressed. “We just want to be able to prove your identity. We’re not doing this to hurt you or upset you. I know it was scary last time, but remember how we were only doing it so Grantaire would feel better?”

“Why don’t I order some soup and you can eat that before we do anything?” Combeferre asked, almost as gently as Jehan. 

Enjolras glanced up and Cosette would have described him as skeptical if his facial expression had been easier to read. “I promise this isn’t a trick,” Combeferre reassured him. “It’s important for you to eat so you can get better.” Enjolras finally nodded and then turned away, focusing all his attention on Grantaire, who eventually quieted down while they waited for the soup to be delivered. Once Enjolras was satisfied that Grantaire was calm, he kept glancing over at Jehan. Grantaire just stared at his lap, now completely motionless.

Combeferre met the kitchen employee at the door, precluding any unnecessary interaction, and brought two mugs over to the bed. Cosette still didn’t know the exact details of the “soup thing,” but whatever it had been didn’t happen again, as Enjolras and Grantaire quietly sipped at their individual mugs, though Grantaire’s movements were stiff and mechanical. Combeferre brought him more ibuprofen, which Grantaire took without protest. 

Bahorel looked at Cosette after both mugs had been set aside. She smiled at him, though instead of getting up like she expected, he passed everything over to Jehan, who paused and then took them over to the bed, producing a pen out of their pocket. “Enjolras, Grantaire, could you sign these for me?” 

Enjolras took everything from Jehan and studied the release form for a long time, though Cosette wondered if he was actually struggling to understand or was just stalling for time again. Finally, Enjolras slowly dislodged his right hand from Grantaire’s grasp, which made Grantaire’s face fall even further, though he made no sound. Once Enjolras had finished, he passed the pen to Grantaire and took up his hand again. Grantaire barely looked at the papers in his lap as he scrawled his name across them.

There came another knock on the door, and Combeferre went to talk to what must be the technician. “Do you have a preference on what order you go in?” Jehan asked, collecting their pen and the papers back. Cosette wasn’t surprised when Grantaire continued to stare silently at his lap, though she was surprised when Enjolras spoke.

“Grantaire should go first,” he said. “Can I – can I wait with you?” he asked, looking up at Jehan, though he faltered and turned his head away quickly.

Jehan seemed surprised but then softened. “Of course, Enjolras. Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.” Enjolras turned to Grantaire and adjusted his hood and blankets a bit before lowering the rail on his side of the bed and climbing down, though he kept a blanket wrapped around himself, and he trailed out of the room behind Jehan.

Combeferre let the technician into the room as Bahorel and Cosette excused themselves as well. Despite Grantaire’s agreement to proceed, Cosette wondered again how much he understood, as he sat looking for all the world like a man awaiting execution. Cosette and Bahorel stood near the security guard, while Jehan took Enjolras partway down the hall to a bench and succeeded in getting him to sit on it, allowing the two of them some privacy. She couldn’t see Enjolras’s face or hear what he was saying, but Jehan looked very worried and was clearly disputing whatever it was. Cosette tried to catch their eye, but when Jehan noticed, they quickly shook their head and waved her back, though their hand came close enough to Enjolras that he flinched away like he expected a blow. 

Combeferre emerged, frowning and unsettled, shortly followed by the technician who indicated she was ready for Enjolras. From the open door, Cosette could hear Grantaire crying again, and it appeared Enjolras had heard as well, as he shuffled quickly back, ignoring everyone else for the moment. Combeferre followed him in and soon returned with Grantaire in a wheelchair. Grantaire had pulled his head inside Enjolras’s sweatshirt, smashing the hood over the neck hole like a lid and holding it in place with his hands.

Cosette looked at Combeferre, who gestured vaguely at his mouth. They knew Grantaire had undergone extreme and prolonged sexual abuse, but it hadn’t occurred to her that the bite-wings the technician must have used to take the X-rays would trigger Grantaire, though it was obvious in hindsight. Jehan made a soft, sad sound, and Bahorel turned away, though Cosette didn’t know if he was concealing tears or anger or both. She would have to speak to him later about dealing with his understandable, though unwarranted, guilt.

The technician came back out even faster this time, and Cosette thought Enjolras must have been more cooperative. She took Grantaire back inside with Jehan, while Combeferre and Bahorel spoke to the technician in the hall about what they needed. Grantaire emerged far enough from the hoodie to see what he was doing as he got back into bed, though he pulled the bedrail back into place behind himself and leaned against it, trying to maintain as much space between himself and Enjolras as possible. Every time Enjolras tried to touch him, Grantaire violently shrugged his hands off. Enjolras didn’t seem surprised or overly perturbed, and he eventually coaxed Grantaire into holding his hand. 

“Here, why don’t you have some privacy?” Jehan asked, and they drew the curtain around the bed when Enjolras assented. The technician came back in quickly to gather the equipment and then left. Jehan motioned for Cosette to follow them into the hall, where Combeferre was cleaning his glasses and Bahorel was pacing back and forth in a manner closer to stomping than walking. 

“We need to talk about what Enjolras said to me.”


	21. Chapter Twenty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really deviate from my style of having time pass linearly between chapters, but we do get Enjolras reviewing events of the last chapter in his head. I hope this works OK! (And maybe satisfies those of you who have asked for more E!angst in the past?)
> 
> Also I hope I edited this alright, I somehow changed my tenses in the first go-round, but I think I got it all ironed out.

Enjolras wasn’t sure if it was his building anxiety or the crushing weight of his impotence, but he felt numb. He sat stroking Grantaire’s hand as lightly and gently as he could as the other man cried, but Enjolras barely registered the sensation. He would feel guilty for having started the sequence of events that led to Grantaire sobbing once again, but emotions seemed abstract; he knew what they were and could even recall what they felt like, but the idea of actually experiencing one in the present moment was completely foreign.

Waking up to Grantaire crying was actually quite a rare occurrence, and almost always were caused by nightmares, which Grantaire of course refused to discuss afterwards. The more typical pattern involved Grantaire breaking down when he was finally dismissed by Master for the evening, followed by a night of awful insomnia, though Grantaire became more upset and agitated if Enjolras tried to stay awake with him instead of sleeping. 

Though maybe this whole incident fit the pattern better than Enjolras had originally supposed. At first Enjolras hadn’t understood why he was still being kept in the hospital, not really, since nothing was acutely wrong with him, not after his rebound fever had broken again. His only real symptoms were a bone-deep fatigue and the desire to sleep much more often than usual, and neither of those were anything Master would’ve made allowances for. However, it appeared Dr. Combeferre and Dr. Joly felt he should continue to rest, and while it didn’t make sense, Enjolras certainly wasn’t inclined to argue.

That’s why he had felt comfortable enough to lay down with Grantaire and sleep, even after he had already slept so much, even though the masters were upset. But he should’ve known better, should’ve known Grantaire had no intention to rest alongside him. Part of Enjolras knew that Grantaire had wanted to convince him of this fiction, that Grantaire did everything Enjolras expected to make him believe it, but maybe if Enjolras had realized what was happening then, this wouldn’t be happening now.

Grantaire was still crying and Enjolras was still stroking his hand, knowing if Grantaire was this upset, he wouldn’t be able to bear any more contact for a very long time. As much as Enjolras wanted to pull him close again and squeeze all the sadness and fear out of him, this was Grantaire’s issue, and Enjolras needed to respect the other man’s boundaries, instead of imposing his own. 

Enjolras supposed he should be at least grateful for the privacy the curtain provided, but thinking about it only started a low buzzing of panic in his brain. Their room was currently empty, and he couldn’t hear anything over Grantaire’s tears, but the masters must be coming back, at least some of them, or they wouldn’t have bothered with the curtain, but Enjolras still couldn’t understand why – which was exactly why this had happened in the first place.

He hadn’t been thinking about anything when he first woke up, other than that Grantaire had been driven to tears and still not proactively sought his comfort, but now he could guess that Grantaire had sat up after pretending to sleep and had had some sort of encounter with their masters before his distress had been sufficient to wake Enjolras. His response to soothe Grantaire as much as he was permitted to was automatic, though no less meaningful for that. But what really had triggered something deep within him was Grantaire practically caving in on himself and pleading, pleading, with Enjolras that he didn’t know what to do.

And while Enjolras had been trying to largely ignore the issue by observing and noting the reactions different masters had to both his obedience and disobedience, Grantaire had actually taken the step of naming the problem. 

They didn’t know what to do.

Maybe Enjolras had thought it, maybe Enjolras had even said it, but not in the way Grantaire had done, not with the finality that acknowledged their current course of action was doing nothing to solve the problem. 

And while Enjolras hated hearing Grantaire weep and beg no matter the circumstance, hated it so much it made his insides burn and twist, this was somehow the worst way it had ever been induced. Enjolras had heard Grantaire cry and plead more often than he really wanted to contemplate: through closed doors, through open doors, from across the room, from right next to him. But the important thing was, excluding the very beginning of their captivity, while they were still being trained to follow the rules, Grantaire had never not known what to do.

Now neither of them did.

Neither of them did, and while Enjolras had to keep reminding himself it had been necessary to bring Grantaire to the hospital, he didn’t know how many more times he could stand watching Grantaire collapse under the pressure of trying to guess who was really in charge, who they needed to obey in any particular grouping, what rules they needed to follow.

So of course Enjolras had decided he needed to fix it. Now, with the numbness to shield him from the impact of his feelings, he wondered why he had done it, when his last attempt to fix things had brought them here. Except that was exactly why he had to try – it was his fault Grantaire was this distraught, and, without knowing what to say or who to say it to, it wasn’t a problem Grantaire could solve on his own. It was only right that Enjolras do something about it, especially since he had been awake and well much longer than Grantaire.

It had been terrifying, making what felt like a split-second decision, but Enjolras didn’t think he’d have the courage to broach the topic on his own and he also had no idea when another opportunity would present itself. Besides, he had spent so much time cataloguing everyone and everything that it wasn’t as much of a leap of logic as it first felt like. 

Master Prouvaire spent the most time with them. Master Prouvaire had ignored several of the other masters to help him get to Grantaire. Master Prouvaire didn’t appear bothered by anyone else’s opinions if they conflicted with his own. Master Prouvaire often took the lead when speaking to him and Grantaire.

Enjolras still hadn’t been sure Master Prouvaire was really their true master when he had asked to wait with him, but he was so authoritative that if he wasn’t, he must certainly be closed aligned with whoever was. 

Enjolras also hadn’t been sure what the point of the ruse was. He had been oh so defiant and oh so disobedient, and even Grantaire had been difficult in his own Grantaire way, but still no one did anything. Regardless of what the point or lesson or objective was, Enjolras knew it had to stop, or Grantaire’s sanity might fray even further.

Of course the idea of leaving Grantaire’s side again, for any reason, had sent that familiar flush of panic through him, but Enjolras at least had had experience with it in the context of hospital X-rays, and nothing bad had happened that time, even though Enjolras knew being a bad boy barely even started to describe his actions at that point. It was horrible and awful to have to trust the masters weren’t lying this time, but there had to be some pattern, some logic to their choices. Even Master choosing to be arbitrary just to be cruel was predictable in and of itself.

Enjolras still was uncertain why the masters wanted or needed to clarify his and Grantaire’s identities, since they obviously recognized them, but while Enjolras could wonder, it wasn’t his place to ask. And the only conclusion he could draw was it was somehow related to the masters wanting to keep them instead of letting Master claim them back. And if they wanted to keep them, Enjolras and Grantaire were eventually going to need to know who to obey above all the others. Drawing the process out was clearly not helping Grantaire get better, and that had been Enjolras’s only goal.

It was hard to know how much time had passed, but Grantaire was still crying.

Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he had asked for something, actually asked for something, not just picked the lesser of two evils under duress from Master for his amusement and entertainment. But if Master Prouvaire would let him into Grantaire’s room when Enjolras wasn’t supposed to be there, surely he would at least hear this request without inflicting too much punishment. 

Master Prouvaire hadn’t inflicted any all and had even honored Enjolras’s request, had even let Enjolras speak in relative privacy and comfort. Enjolras tried to imagine how Grantaire would’ve acted if he’d been well enough to create his own opportunity to ask this question, how compliant and submissive he would’ve been, except Enjolras had been unable to relinquish his final blanket, even though it could hardly prevent Master Prouvaire from hurting him. Enjolras didn’t think he’d have the nerve to speak without it.

Not that it mattered, not that it had worked.

Instead, when Enjolras had begged to Master Prouvaire to please, please, please tell him who was in charge, to please, please, please tell him how to be good, Master Prouvaire had just looked incredibly sad and said Enjolras didn’t have to listen to anyone, that he didn’t have to be good. Enjolras felt lost and adrift. 

But that was still not as awful as when he heard Grantaire crying again. How many times had Grantaire been punished in his place, whether Master did it on purpose or Grantaire had engineered it to take the blame, how many times had Grantaire suffered because of Enjolras, except this time that suffering had been for nothing.

Why had he thought that this X-ray would be alright? Grantaire had refused to look at or be touched by Enjolras when Enjolras went to him, and Enjolras felt his spine burn with awful shame, not even knowing what had upset Grantaire so much, though as soon as the technician had encouraged him to take the bitewings into his mouth for his own X-ray, he understood. The sensation was uncomfortable for him, but Enjolras could immediately extrapolate what this had been like for Grantaire. 

He tried his very best to ignore the specifics of Grantaire’s abuse, to give the other man privacy and maybe even a little dignity in the only way he could, but Enjolras was still keenly aware that Master frequently raped Grantaire orally. It was no wonder Grantaire had broken down even more now. All so Enjolras could insist on asking questions that still had no answers.

Grantaire had finally calmed down, only shaking with the occasional hiccup but otherwise quiet and still. Enjolras took both Grantaire’s hands between his, wanting desperately to comfort him more but forcing himself not to push more. Grantaire spoke before Enjolras could think of the right thing to say.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice rough and wrecked. 

“No, Grantaire, I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, wondering if Grantaire would even believe him. “I should never have agreed in the first place. I should have said no.”

Grantaire’s mouth twitched, and Enjolras thought he might have laughed if he had had more energy. “While I certainly appreciate the sentiment, I doubt your consent impacted anything.” Grantaire released a strange squeak, and Enjolras realized the other man was suppressing his cough.

“No, Grantaire, I-” Enjolras paused, wondering how he could tell Grantaire his suffering and fear had been for nothing. “I asked Master Prouvaire, and he said no one’s in charge.”

Grantaire kept staring down at their joined hands. “Are you sure? What if it’s still a trick?” He sounded slightly desperate and hysterical. Enjolras didn’t blame him but he couldn’t lie.

“No, he seemed sincere. He said we’re safe, that they’ll make sure we’re safe, but that we don’t have to do anything for it.” 

For a long moment Grantaire stayed just as before, and then for an instant that horrible and terrible sadness came over his face again, like Enjolras had seen when Grantaire had not realized his hair no longer hid him, and then the other man pulled his hands free and rolled to his side. “I’m tired,” he said softly.

Enjolras was tempted for half a second to say he was tired of Grantaire not letting them have a proper conversation about anything, but then he stopped himself. Whenever Grantaire came to take care of him after a brutal beating, Grantaire was always completely focused on patching Enjolras up and nothing else. It was hard for Enjolras not to talk to Grantaire, but it was probably hard for Grantaire too, to be so limited in what he could do for Enjolras.

Enjolras shifted until he was close enough to Grantaire that the other man could reach out and touch him if he wanted and then lapsed into stillness as well. He jumped when the door creaked open, though Grantaire did not, and Enjolras wondered if he had actually fallen asleep.

It sounded like two people had entered the room, and Enjolras wondered who they were. Mistress Fauchelevent was one of them, since she came up to the curtain and quietly asked, “Can we talk to you for a minute? We’re not upset, I promise.”

Enjolras obeyed – even if they said he didn’t need to obey, he couldn’t think of it any other way – and pulled the curtain back. Master Prouvaire was sitting on the couch, and despite what Mistress Fauchelevent had said about them not being upset, Master Prouvaire, at least, had obviously been crying. Grantaire remained motionless on his side.

Mistress Fauchelevent smiled softly, though it took a moment longer for it to reach her eyes and it was clearly an effort. “Grantaire, would you please join the conversation as well? Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise.”

Grantaire waited so long to comply, much longer than he normally did, even when Master summoned him for a truly terrible punishment, that Enjolras could only imagine what terrible thing Grantaire thought might happen if he did obey. But finally Grantaire turned over, though he remained as closed off as before. Enjolras dared to reach over and adjust Grantaire’s hood and clasp his hand, all activities Master Prouvaire seemed to approve of and Grantaire generally liked. It took longer than normal for Grantaire to return the gentle pressure, but Enjolras was pleased nonetheless.

“Grantaire, first I want to apologize for triggering you. That wasn’t our intent at all, but I’m sorry if you felt in any way coerced into doing something you did not want to.” Enjolras circled Grantaire’s palm with his thumb, trying to add his own apology to Mistress Fauchelevent’s, but Grantaire gave no reaction to either.

After a lengthy pause, Mistress Fauchelevent then said, “Enjolras, we also need to discuss what you asked Jehan about.” Enjolras continued to feel nothing for a second and then, with a horrible suddenness like walking off a cliff, the numbness fell away and the terror washed over him.

Yes, he had known he was afraid before. He was afraid he had made Grantaire terribly upset on purpose but for no good reason. He was afraid he would be hurt for having asked. He was afraid Grantaire would be hurt or abused in his place. He was afraid Grantaire would be taken away again.

But all that fear had been at a distance, and now it felt like he was drowning in it.

When Enjolras’s brain caught back up with that screaming terror, he was already in the act of pulling Grantaire into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him. He dropped to his knees and clutched Grantaire against him, not sure if he rocked them for Grantaire’s benefit or his own. He guessed it was the latter, since Grantaire was no longer as touch averse and allowed as much contact as Enjolras wanted.

Finally, the fear ebbed away, until only a dull ache remained. 

If Enjolras had felt stupid before, this was far worse. He hadn’t run away, not really, but given his earlier propensity to not stay in bed, certainly something horrible would happen now. Master Prouvaire had promised over and over that Enjolras didn’t need to be good, but Dr. Combeferre and Dr. Joly did want him to rest and get better, and this most certainly wasn’t resting or getting better. 

There were more voices in the room now, including Dr. Combeferre’s, and Enjolras wondered why he had even tried. Of course there would be a way for the hospital to open the bathroom from the outside, and now the same person who had restrained him for running before had come back. 

But suddenly the commotion stopped. Enjolras wondered if he should move himself and Grantaire away from the door, if the people outside were preparing to break it down instead of unlocking it, but before Enjolras could move, Master Prouvaire spoke, voice muffled but close enough that he was probably just on the other side.

“Enjolras, would you be willing to talk to me like this? We weren’t going to take Grantaire away from you, I promise, but would it be easier if you can feel sure?”

Enjolras released Grantaire enough that the other man could pull his head back. 

“Does this help?” Grantaire more mouthed than said, and Enjolras couldn’t quite read his expression. When he nodded in response, Grantaire relaxed a little and tilted his head onto Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras shifted until they were as comfortable as he could make them for sitting on a bathroom floor, and then before he could stop himself, Enjolras twisted and placed a brief kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head, and Grantaire relaxed just a little bit more.

“Enjolras?” prompted Master Prouvaire gently.

“Yes, sir,” Enjolras said, wondering just how long he had waited to answer. 

There was a brief pause, but it somehow was easier this way, knowing Master Prouvaire, or anyone else for that matter, couldn’t reach out and hurt him or pull Grantaire away at any moment. Enjolras also had more mental energy available for focusing on the content of the conversation instead of have to carefully control his facial expression and body language. 

It was also secretly thrilling to be able to maintain this much physical contact with Grantaire for emotional support, without worrying about being punished for it. He wasn’t completely sure why Grantaire was suddenly allowing it, but the other man seemed consenting and happy enough, given the circumstances.

“Enjolras, why don’t we start there?” Master Prouvaire asked. “Would you be able to stop calling me sir? I know you were probably told you have to, but it makes me very uncomfortable.”

The little bit of happiness and security Enjolras had washed away. Maybe Grantaire had been right, maybe it really was a trick. “But – but you said you’re not- You said I don’t have to-”

“Yes, Enjolras, that’s right,” said Master Prouvaire in the same soft tone. “I’m not your master. You don’t have to listen to me. You don’t have to be good.” There’s a murmur outside, and Enjolras thinks it’s Dr. Combeferre, but the voice is too distant to be sure. It probably was, because Master Prouvaire adds, “If we ask you to do anything, Enjolras, it’s just so that you get better or stay safe.”

Enjolras realized he’s begun to pick at Grantaire’s hoodie and consciously makes himself stop. “But – I don’t – what should I-”

“You don’t have to call me anything, Enjolras, but if you do, why don’t you call me Jehan? That’s what the rest of our friends do.”

The last statement made no sense to Enjolras. He’d be hard-pressed to pick a label to describe his relationship with Grantaire, given that there probably isn’t a good one, but he was even more hard-pressed to think of anyone else he could describe as a friend, and Grantaire certainly never called Master Prouvaire Jehan.

“And my preferred pronoun is they,” Master Prouvaire added. 

The whole situation made slightly more sense to Enjolras now. He’d noticed Master Prouvaire often wore feminine clothing, though Enjolras had honestly been more struck by how garish some of the outfits were than what gender they were intended to convey. But if Master Prouvaire was…not at one end of the gender spectrum, Enjolras could better understand why he wouldn’t prefer to be called by masculine honorifics. Enjolras should go back to what he thought before, when it felt safe to call this person Jehan and they in his head, before he was so afraid of slipping up while speaking that he made himself stop completely.

Enjolras made himself think the name and the pronoun over and over and over. It was equally important he not make a mistake now. Grantaire shifted a little beside him, and Enjolras looked and saw the other man staring down at his hands, but instead of blankness or despair, Grantaire simply appeared to be deep in thought. 

“Yes, Jehan,” Enjolras forced himself to say, the words heavy and strange on his tongue. As much as Enjolras wanted to pretend, he knew it was not feasible for the two of them to remain in the bathroom forever. He waited, shoulders tense, despite knowing it wouldn’t be possible for Jehan to suddenly kick down the door and seize him. 

“That’s very good, Enjolras,” Jehan praised immediately, sincere as always and very warm. Enjolras almost felt ashamed at how sharp and strong his relief was, now that he knew how to placate at least one of their masters.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff and a cliffhanger, because I am a terrible person.

Enjolras blinked awake and stared up at the ceiling lights, confused and disoriented, until he remembered falling asleep the previous night. The room was also lit by the sun, and it must already be the next morning, if not even later. Enjolras had tried to never mention his fatigue or lack of sleep, since Grantaire’s insomnia was markedly worse, to put it mildly, but Enjolras hadn’t realized he had completely forgotten what it was like to sleep through the night and then wake naturally. He checked that the curtain was still drawn and then rolled to look at Grantaire.

Enjolras was relieved to see the other man was still asleep. It had taken a lot of reassuring from both himself and Jehan that there would be no nightmares to convince Grantaire to take the medication Dr. Combeferre offered, to help him relax enough to rest peacefully, and while Enjolras had been uncomfortable pushing Grantaire like that, it seemed worth it now that Grantaire was getting his first long, unbroken, sleep in…a very long time, since it sounded like the earlier sedated haze didn’t really count as restful. 

Despite Enjolras carefully retying the strings of the hoodie after Jehan had coaxed them out of the bathroom, Grantaire’s hood had slipped halfway off his head in sleep, his face too gaunt and sunken to provide enough counter pressure against the knot to keep it in place. Very slowly and gently, not wanting to wake him, Enjolras pulled it back into place, making sure to completely cover Grantaire’s dark curls, and then he pulled the blankets back up to Grantaire’s chin and tucked them around his shoulders. The other man’s eyes flickered open briefly before closing again, but then he let out a deep sigh and simply settled deeper into the bed. 

Looking at Grantaire like this, warm and safe and bundled up in Enjolras’s clothes, Enjolras was tempted to think of the other man as…cute, though he made himself push the thought away the instant it materialized, uncertain how Grantaire would take a compliment about his physical appearance, after what he’d been through. Enjolras didn’t even mean anything sexual by it, but he imagined it would be hard for Grantaire to compartmentalize like that. But Enjolras still couldn’t resist softly kissing Grantaire’s forehead, though he had to admit it was as much to renew his courage as it was to comfort the other man. 

Enjolras couldn’t even guess if they would be in trouble for sleeping as long as they did, since it simply hadn’t been possible under Master’s control, whether physically or emotionally, but the least he could do was find out before Grantaire awoke. If there was punishment in store, Grantaire would certainly be very unhappy if Enjolras tried to take it for him, but Enjolras could try to intercede now, before it got that far. 

Enjolras drew the curtain as slowly as he could, not wanting the noise to disturb Grantaire. Jehan was on one of the couches, once again working on their knitting. They had changed into a rainbow poncho, which Enjolras assumed they had made themselves, and looked much more rested than before, and Enjolras was again reminded how everyone had been conforming to his and Grantaire’s bizarre sleep schedules. They must all have been able to rest overnight, too. Enjolras wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad change.

Éponine was folded up next to Jehan, head in one hand, and Enjolras first thought she was just deep in thought, but when the noise made her shift a bit, he could see she was asleep, despite the awkward position. Unlike Jehan, she was in the same clothes as the previous day, but she also looked better rested. 

Master de Courfeyrac had commandeered one of the other sofas, pushing it to the far corner and using a bedside table as a makeshift desk, though it must have come from another room, since both Enjolras’s and Grantaire’s were still in place. He frequently stopped typing to text on his phone, though Enjolras noticed he still checked it often in between, like he was waiting for a different person to contact him as well. 

Enjolras had been unsure how to get Jehan’s attention, especially since Grantaire and Éponine were asleep, but Master de Courfeyrac looked up after setting his phone down yet again. When he noticed Enjolras was awake and watching him, he waved exuberantly, though Enjolras quickly looked away, and then lobbed a wadded-up piece of paper onto Jehan’s lap. Jehan rolled their eyes and threw it back over their head without looking, managing to clip Master de Courfeyrac’s head, before they looked up and realized what Master de Courfeyrac had been trying to tell them.

Jehan looked terribly sad for a moment, but then it cleared into one of their typical gentle smiles, as they set their knitting aside and came up to the bed. Enjolras wasn’t sure if he should proactively apologize, but before he could make a decision, Jehan spoke and saved him from having to guess.

“Good morning, Enjolras,” they said quietly, “it looks like you feel much better.” Enjolras nodded, not quite ready to address Jehan without any kind of honorific. “Would you like me to get you something to eat now, or would you prefer to wait until Grantaire wakes up?”

Enjolras put his hands under the blankets, so that Jehan wouldn’t see him picking at the threads of Grantaire’s sweater. If this had been a normal day with Master, he would’ve said he wanted to eat now and then hidden half for Grantaire, in case there actually wouldn’t be any more food rationed out that day, but Enjolras wasn’t sure what Jehan would order for him or how he could conceivably hide it right in front of them, and if Grantaire woke to find Enjolras in trouble for stealing food for him, there was a non-zero chance that, as sick as Grantaire must still be, he would claim he had told Enjolras to do it. The only downside to waiting to eat was that, if they weren’t actually fed later, and Grantaire found out Enjolras missed a chance to eat because of him, he would become…non-responsive for some time. But Enjolras could certainly miss one meal without any harm, especially given how much he’d been fed since coming to the hospital.

“Enjolras?” Jehan prompted, still gentle, but Enjolras realized he must look foolish spending so much time agonizing over a simple question, when Jehan appeared to want him to act a little more like a normal person. The last thing Enjolras wanted to do was have Grantaire, and himself, lose Jehan’s protection because he couldn’t function.

“I’d – I’d like to wait.” Enjolras had to bite his lip to prevent himself from adding “sir” to the end, it was so habitual. 

“Of course, that’s fine,” Jehan said. “I’m really proud of you for choosing,” though Enjolras wasn’t sure if they meant making a decision in general or that he had made the correct one.

Grantaire snuffled a bit next to him, and when Enjolras turned back from soothing him, Jehan and Master de Courfeyrac were exchanging a serious look, and though they stopped when they noticed Enjolras, it still made him uneasy. However, they both resumed what they were doing and left Enjolras alone, so at least it didn’t appear to be urgent.

As strange as the long sleep had been, it was even more surreal to be able to sit, quiet and comfortable, with no demands on him or chores to do. Enjolras would’ve thought it would be boring, but other than feeling a little lost and unbalanced by such a radical change, he was content. The double rhythm of Jehan’s knitting needles and Master de Courfeyrac’s typing even lulled Enjolras into a light doze, and he wondered at how tired he still was. At some point, he slowly worked his hand into Grantaire’s, not wanting the other man to wake without some sort of contact.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed like that, until Grantaire finally stirred next to him, blinking sleepily and squirming a little. When he became a little more aware of his surroundings, he looked just as confused as Enjolras must have earlier, and Enjolras gently squeezed his hand. Jehan got up when they noticed and immediately went to the room phone to order breakfast, and Enjolras felt a knot in his chest loosen, knowing he had really made the right decision earlier.

Grantaire sat up a little bit while they waited for their food, and while he seemed on-edge, he did manage to give Enjolras a little smile. All the sleep had clearly done him a world of good, though Enjolras felt a little sick when he realized he had forgotten what Grantaire’s face looked like without the giant dark circles under his eyes, now much receded and less noticeable with more color in Grantaire’s cheeks. The other man did twitch slightly when he noticed Éponine in the room, but Enjolras knew better than to press Grantaire about it this time.

The commotion of the food being delivered was enough to finally wake her, and from the way she jerked her head up sharply, Enjolras didn’t think she had meant to sleep at all. Her eyes ran over the two of them without really seeing much, and then Éponine quickly twisted to look at Master de Courfeyrac, though she looked less sad and more angry than Jehan had. When Master de Courfeyrac looked at his phone again before shaking his head, she rubbed at her eyes with the heels of hands. Éponine had always been on their side in disagreements, but Enjolras’s earlier uneasiness grew, wondering what was so disturbing that all three were in agreement but yet not so disturbing that they could wait to bring it up.

Jehan had ordered him and Grantaire the same thing, thankfully, though Enjolras felt overwhelmed by having toast, eggs, and juice, all at one time. Grantaire’s face remained passive, though he was blinking rapidly, just as confused. Enjolras sipped at his juice first, cold and sweet and clearing his head a bit, and Grantaire copied him. Éponine had gone to the bathroom without saying anything, and Jehan had withdrawn to talk quietly to Master de Courfeyrac, so at least their struggle to eat was not too closely observed. 

Enjolras had just worked his way through his toast and was contemplating having to use a fork and knife simultaneously to round up his scrambled eggs when Master de Courfeyrac’s phone rang, causing Grantaire to drop the spoon he had been using to scoop up his own eggs with a loud clatter. 

Master de Courfeyrac stepped into the hall before answering, shutting the door firmly behind him, though when Éponine stormed out of the bathroom, wiping her eyes like she had been crying in private, and joined him outside, Enjolras could hear that Master de Courfeyrac sounded very grave. Jehan bustled back over and tried to encourage the two of them to finish eating like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, but the little appetite Enjolras had had left him, and Grantaire looked like he might be sick any minute. Enjolras took his hand again and stroked his knuckles, not wanting Grantaire to suffer the humiliation of throwing up in front of Jehan.

Jehan quickly gave up trying to get them to eat any more, though they hovered near the bed. Finally, Master de Courfeyrac came back in, holding his phone out in his hand, and Enjolras could see from the screen that he was still on the call. Éponine did not rejoin them, and Enjolras could only wonder where she had gone. 

“Enjolras,” Master de Courfeyrac said, his voice different from every other time Enjolras had heard him speak, sounding brusque and professional, even though he looked upset. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, but we didn’t want to stress you out earlier, but I have Valjean on the phone, and he thinks he found – the house. If he sends me a picture of it, could you look at and tell if it’s the right one?”

Enjolras wondered dully what that disgusting sound was, and then he realized with horror it was him, throwing up everything he had just eaten, and then some. He had been so worried about Grantaire, he hadn’t even considered himself, though Grantaire obviously had, shifting a blanket in time to catch everything and then gathering it up before it could spread. Jehan whisked the soiled blanket away and produced a clean one from somewhere else, giving it to Grantaire to arrange, while giving Enjolras himself a bottle of water to wash away the taste.

When Enjolras recovered enough to pay attention, he saw Master de Courfeyrac still standing in the same spot, still holding the phone, still waiting for Enjolras to answer. Jehan’s jaw worked a little before they spoke, like they had to get themselves under control before speaking. “Enjolras, do you want me to get Combeferre or Joly? I’m sure they could give you something to help you relax.”

Enjolras shook his head quickly. He probably wouldn’t get through this without embarrassing himself again, and he wanted a small of an audience as possible. Grantaire had pushed up the sleeve of his sweater and was softly stroking the underside of Enjolras’s forearm with his fingertips. He averted his eyes when Enjolras tried to look at him, and Enjolras knew Grantaire was berating himself internally, unable to take on this task himself, unable to do anything but look after Enjolras as best he could. 

Grantaire squeaked when Enjolras abruptly hugged him as hard as he could. It was totally irrational, it was just going to be a picture, but Enjolras felt like if he looked at that horrible house again, somehow he’d be right back outside it, Grantaire dying, Enjolras unable to save him this time. 

“Enjolras, you’re hurting him,” Jehan said softly, and Enjolras felt even worse when he saw it was true. Grantaire shook his head when Enjolras released him, but his breathing was more ragged and uneven, and Enjolras wondered, far too belatedly, how sore his chest must be. He hoped if Grantaire had actually cracked any of his ribs, someone would’ve told him by now, but even if they were just bruised, they must be very painful. 

Enjolras hurt as well, looking at Grantaire, hurt wanting to keep him from such suffering again. Jehan had let him ask questions before without rebuke, Enjolras had to believe it would be allowed again.

“Why do you want me to do this?” he asked in a rush, afraid he would lose his nerve, careful to look only at Jehan and not Master de Courfeyrac.

Jehan was clearly surprised by the question, and they looked at Master de Courfeyrac for guidance, though Enjolras could see from the corner of his eye, that he didn’t have an easy answer either. Jehan’s shoulders slumped a little, and they looked even smaller in their gigantic sweater. “Maybe Éponine is right, maybe we haven’t explained things well enough.” Enjolras didn’t care who was right and who was wrong, he just wanted an answer. He briefly wondered who was on the other end of Master de Courfeyrac’s call and what they thought of all this. “Enjolras, we are trying to find the person who did this to you so he can be – brought to justice. We need your help to do that.”

Enjolras tried to look at Grantaire before responding, but the other man had gone back to staring at his lap without moving. Enjolras had to take several deep breaths before he felt like when he opened his mouth words would come out instead of more vomit. “If I tell you, you can’t send us back. Ever. You have to keep us.” Enjolras still wasn’t sure what their new life would look like, but if the only difference was they, or at least Grantaire, would get medical care when they needed it, it was a significant improvement.

Jehan blinked and a few tears ran down their face, but they were serious and firm when they spoke. “No. Enjolras, no. You’re safe now. Your captor will never be able to hurt you again, I promise.” Why had Jehan side-stepped the second part of what Enjolras had said? Were they going to be given to someone else, or would such a thing be used as a threat in the future? Master could hardly be the only person cruel enough to torment them the same way.

“You have to keep us,” Enjolras said again, though he hated how his voice wavered this time. He wasn’t used to putting up this much resistance or for this long. If Grantaire hadn’t once again laced their hands together, Enjolras didn’t think he’d have the fortitude to hold his ground.

“Oh, Enjolras,” Jehan said, so sad that Enjolras braced himself to be told exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “Enjolras, you don’t belong to us. I promise we want nothing but to help you, both of you, get better, but you are your own person. You aren’t beholden to anyone but yourself.” There was a long pause, and Grantaire started to cry. “Enjolras, is that – is that the real reason your behavior changed? You think acting this way will make me want to – to ‘keep’ you?”

Enjolras felt lost again. Jehan had seen right through him in only a matter of hours, and now their protection would be revoked and Grantaire would be hurt again. 

“Courfeyrac?” a voice Enjolras didn’t recognize asked, tinny from the speakerphone. 

Jehan shook themselves. “Alright, Enjolras, I’m sorry I upset you like this. Yes, I promise I will keep you, both of you. Whatever that means to you that I keep you, that’s what I mean, too. I will keep both of you safe.” Enjolras felt the tension drain out of him. Grantaire seemed to be making an effort to stop crying.

Enjolras finally let himself look at Master de Courfeyrac and nodded. “I’m going to show Enjolras the picture now,” Master de Courfeyrac narrated for the man on the phone. He busied himself with the phone and suddenly he brought it over close to Enjolras. Grantaire, even though only a few moments ago had been distraught, was once again more prepared for Enjolras’s reactions than Enjolras was, catching him when he jumped back in terror. Master de Courfeyrac frowned and when he didn’t move away, Enjolras slowly slid under the blankets. After all the problems he had already caused today, he was determined to be a good boy, at least when it came to this.

“Enjolras, I promise you’re safe. Can you be brave and look at the picture for us?” Jehan coaxed.

Grantaire spoke for the first time that day, even as he groped under the blankets to rub Enjolras’s shoulder. “Please, sir,” and he was so much better at sounded obedient and submissive than Enjolras ever could be, “he knows better than to use a phone. Please, you don’t have to test him. He’s learned his lesson.”

Enjolras couldn’t see what Master de Courfeyrac did in response but after a brief pause he asked, slightly strained, “Would my laptop be alright?”

Grantaire didn’t answer immediately, probably unsure. Master had always had always had his laptop with him or locked it in his office, so while they both knew not to touch it, they had never really had a chance to try anyway. “It would be better than the phone, sir,” Grantaire said finally, sounding even more submissive and apologetic than before.

Enjolras dared to peep out from under the blankets when it sounded like Master de Courfeyrac had walked away. Jehan had backed further away from the bed and was doing something with the phone, while Master de Courfeyrac unplugged his laptop and brought it over. He fiddled with it and then turned it around for Enjolras to see, standing further away than before. 

Enjolras knew he should respond verbally, to help prove he wasn’t being difficult on purpose, but he felt overcome by almost the same feeling as when he couldn’t speak. He had only seen the front of the house in the light once, when Master had found after his first escape attempt, as he would otherwise only bring him to and from next door at night, but there was no mistaking it. He blinked and then pointed to the right side of the photo, though he wasn’t sure if the distance would make it too hard for Master de Courfeyrac to tell what he had noticed.

“You don’t remember the house being for sale?” Master de Courfeyrac said, louder than normal for the man on the phone’s benefit, so he must have known. Enjolras took a minute to consider this. There probably could’ve been a carnival set up in the front yard the night they ran away and he wouldn’t have noticed, let alone a For Sale sign, he had been so focused on Grantaire. But it didn’t seem like something for Master to do with no noticeable change in behavior. He was so strict to keep from anyone finding out about his captives, and it didn’t seem possible to sell a house without having all sorts of people traipse through it for one reason or another. Enjolras finally shook his head. “It wasn’t for sale before,” Master de Courfeyrac verbalized.

There was a very long pause, and Jehan and Master de Courfeyrac had another silent conversation. There was clearly more to it than this, and Enjolras assumed it must be this yet unspoken issue that had everyone so upset earlier. 

“Did they believe you were really interested in buying it?” Master de Courfeyrac asked, though it was clear from his tone he knew the answer and wanted the man on the phone to repeat it, for whatever reason.

The phone person sighed heavily. “Yes, I believe so. The ‘realtor’ acted completely pleasant, but I don’t believe it.” He went silent. “I remarked how clean everything seemed, and he said he brings in a professional cleaning crew for every house he sells. He seemed to intimate that’s standard procedure.”

“Thanks, Valjean,” Master de Courfeyrac said. “And you’re safe for now?”

“Oh, yes,” the man said. “I was going to just sit on the beach like a crazy eccentric, but Cosette convinced me to sit up in the lifeguard stand and text her every fifteen minutes.” Enjolras winced and Grantaire petted his hand, even though he had never told Grantaire the details of that first escape and the other man couldn’t possibly know why it upset Enjolras. “I would be more worried for me when Javert finally gets here and wants to give me the fifth-degree. He’s already supposed to just be consulting for the local police, so I’m sure he’ll be in an excellent mood.”

“OK, let me know if you need anything. I think Marius is still-” Master de Courfeyrac looked at Enjolras and broke off. 

“I will. Goodbye, Courfeyrac,” Valjean said and ended the call.

“Enjolras, do you understand what all this means?” Jehan asked tentatively. Enjolras wasn’t sure if he did. Master wouldn’t be stupid enough to pretend to be his own realtor, so he must really be gone and have found someone else to get rid of the cottage for him, but that didn’t seem to be the answer Jehan was looking for. It would probably be harder for the police to find Master now, and while that was definitely not good, Enjolras didn’t think it would make Jehan that sad. “It means the police might not find any evidence in the house. That’s going to make identifying and then finding your captor much harder.”

Grantaire went very still next to Enjolras. “You promise you’re going to keep both of us?” he asked, dragging his gaze up to Jehan, emphasizing the word both. He sounded much less submissive, rather desperate and wild, and Enjolras held his breath.

“Yes, that’s what I promised,” Jehan repeated back.

Grantaire turned now to look at Enjolras, eyes boring into him. Enjolras didn’t understand, and then he did. He swallowed a few times. “Next – next door,” he mumbled. They had already separated him and Grantaire, so it’s not like they would get any new ideas for punishment, but Enjolras could barely hold back the flood of bad memories.

“The neighbors hurt you as well?” Master de Courfeyrac asked, sounding alarmed. 

He shook his head, and Grantaire gave his hand another squeeze. “When – when I was bad,” and here Grantaire shifted a bit, no doubt annoyed Enjolras was accepting all the responsibility, but Enjolras just couldn’t blame Grantaire out loud for anything, “Master would – he would – take me there – and – and leave me-”

“Oh, Enjolras,” Jehan said, tears coming to their eyes again. “No wonder-”

Master de Courfeyrace put a hand on Jehan’s arm as he interrupted them. “How did he get in, Enjolras? Where did he put you?”

Enjolras swallowed again. “He had a key, he would house-sit for them.” He took more deep breaths. “He would put me in the crawlspace there.”

“Is there anything else?” Master de Courfeyrac pressed.

“He – he would sometimes put a crate of water bottles down there. I was – I was supposed to keep them where he could see them, but I – I hid a couple in the corner, in case he stopped giving them to me. I never knew….”

“What if whoever is at the house cleaned the neighbor’s too?” Jehan asked, as Master de Courfeyrac started gathering his things quickly.

“But it’s another good lead,” Master de Courfeyrac pointed out, zipping up his bag in no time at all. “I’m sure they weren’t as thorough. If my house sitter disappeared and did a deep clean of my house beforehand, I’d probably be suspicious, or at least weirded out.” He turned to the bed. “Enjolras, I’m sorry I have to leave so fast, but I really appreciate everything you told me. I’m sure Jehan will take good care of you this afternoon.”

Enjolras said nothing, too overwhelmed by all the sudden activity. He blinked in surprise when Grantaire used the commotion to shyly kiss his temple, though when Enjolras turned to him, the other man flushed and looked away, so Enjolras settled for reciprocating, feeling glad for the exchange but curious what had suddenly compelled Grantaire to initiate it. 

Before he could even think of asking, Master Pontmercy had appeared at the door, tired and drawn.


	23. Chapter Twenty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer-than-normal wait for this chapter, it took me a hot minute to get it worked out right in my head. And it's still clunkier than I wish, but ah well.
> 
> So real talk time - I had been hemming and hawing about what to do about Enjolras's sexuality. I learned what asexuality/the ace spectrum is through the Les Mis fandom (hooray representation!), and I guess I'm having like a mini-identity/quarter-life crisis since I had no idea there were words for how I felt. (Also, if someone could've explained this during puberty, it would probably have been a lot easier than trying to figure it out as An Adult....) I've decided to have Enjolras be gray ace and demi (though the Internet has given me different answers on the relationship between the two, but I can see them being separate?) and based it on my own personal feelings.   
> tldr; I am trying to figure my own ace thing out with my characters, and I apologize if I misrepresented anything. I'd be happy to fix anything if I did.
> 
> ***Trigger warning for more discussion of Grantaire's suicide attempt***

Enjolras knelt in the crawlspace, waiting for Master to come retrieve him, trying not to wonder why he was being left alone for so much longer than normal today, as more and more light leaked into the crawlspace. He tried to stop himself from twisting his fingers together, to stop himself from making his fear of having hands bound again so blatantly obvious, but he couldn't.

It didn't matter anyway; Enjolras had carefully tracked which days Master left him free to work and which days Master left him to stew in a miasma of panic and fear, and there was no discernible pattern. He wouldn't have been surprised if Master literally flipped a coin to decide, but that thought made him so sick he pushed it away every time it came up. 

The worst part of the waiting was wondering about Grantaire, wondering if he would feel any better today, wondering if his arms would still be free of infection. Despite Master’s bravado once the blood was gone, he must actually be worried, since he had bought plenty of gauze, though he had been gone for so long that Enjolras suspected he had gone to another town to get it, and he let Enjolras wash and redress the wounds each morning and night. Enjolras didn't know how long this prolonged...lesson would last, and he hated how he hoped it would end before Grantaire healed, which at least guaranteed them contact twice a day. Who knew if that would be allowed to last any longer than strictly necessary.

Enjolras was pulled from his thoughts by the cover of the crawlspace being pulled back, but he kept his head dutifully bowed. While he knew Master would eventually order him out, this interminable time of kneeling and groveling and waiting drove him to twist his fingers together again. 

“Up,” Master ordered, and Enjolras scrambled to obey. He felt stiff, going from kneeling on concrete to hauling himself out with just his arms to kneeling again. Enjolras was forced to continue to wait. “You have a half hour,” Master said and walked away. 

Enjolras pushed himself to his feet as soon as Master had left the room. Grantaire was still in Master’s bed, though Enjolras wasn't sure if he had been ordered to remain there as a form of humiliation or if Grantaire was simply too weak to move more than necessary. Enjolras was almost a little relieved to find Grantaire still dressed, or as dressed as he was sometimes allowed to be, and wrapped in a blanket, though he had to acknowledge that that didn't mean Grantaire had been that way for long. But that thought made Enjolras feel sick too, and he pushed it away with all the others. 

While Grantaire had spoken and gradually become aware of his surroundings when he first regained consciousness, that had slowly eroded day by day, until now he was silent and…vacant. Enjolras wanted to believe it was just a symptom of the massive blood loss Grantaire had suffered, that he was just tired and anemic, but he knew it wasn't. It hurt him to see Grantaire like this, eyes open but unfocused and blank, though childlike and amenable to whatever Enjolras said.

And was is it any wonder? Even putting aside the fact that Grantaire had thought Enjolras might not come back, whether by choice or by force, he had held out while he still believed there was hope of rescue, hope that the nightmare would end. But now that Enjolras felt like vomiting at the very thought of leaving and Grantaire’s belief in the futility of escape had only been reinforced, there was no hope.

Enjolras has known the chance of their friends finding them, once the first few days of captivity had passed, was essentially nil. He had wondered why they hadn’t, why they had apparently given up so easily, but now he had seen. They were clearly far away from New York City; they might not even be in New York state any longer. No one was ever going to find them here, trapped inside a cottage in the middle of nowhere.

He shook himself. Grantaire needed his care, not his resignation. Enjolras rested one knee on the bed and gently tugged Grantaire into a sitting position, helping support the other man until it seemed like he had his balance, though Grantaire did stumble once on the short walk to the bathroom. Enjolras spent a lot of his time trying to estimate how long it might take Grantaire’s body to naturally replace the lost blood, but he didn’t trust his own recollection of how long recovery from a simple blood donation took, and it was hard to know how much slower the process would be with their poor diet.

Once in the bathroom, Enjolras seated Grantaire on the closed toilet. Grantaire was probably sleeping more now than he had been while preparing himself for Enjolras’s escape, but it was hard to be sure; as soon as he shifted into a relatively comfortable position, Grantaire’s eyes drifted shut, head bobbing up in intervals as he jerked awake. The whole cycle was too awkward for it just to be an elaborate way to avoid talking to Enjolras. 

Enjolras washed his hands thoroughly and then opened the bathroom cabinet, taking out the gauze, medical tape, and two clean washcloths from the pile he had put there. He wished desperately that Combeferre or Joly were there to tell him what to do, or even just to reassure him that he wasn’t accidently doing more harm than good, but all he could do instead was everything he could think of to prevent contamination. If Master had noticed Enjolras doing a load of laundry every few days of nothing but a handful of washcloths, he hadn’t commented.

Enjolras carefully took Grantaire’s left arm out, doing his best to tuck the blanket back around him. He gently removed the tape and gauze from the previous night, before examining the skin. It was obvious now that Grantaire would be left with terrible, terrible scars, and Enjolras hated that he hadn’t known how to suture the wounds, though he recognized that was far beyond his amateur skill level and would have had plenty of potential to go wrong. 

Grantaire had stopped bobbing now that Enjolras was working in earnest, though now he sat with his eyes still closed. Enjolras knew Grantaire must be feeling ashamed at these times, and he had no idea what to say to make it better; now he wished horribly for Jehan to tell him what words would comfort Grantaire.

As he did every time, Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no apparent infection. The scabs were red, but the color hadn’t spread, and the only heat was what he would’ve expected. He still felt along each cut, touching it softly to check for any sign from Grantaire that there was new pain or discomfort, though many times Enjolras thought he could rip all the scabs back open and Grantaire would still make no sign.

Enjolras poured a bit of soap onto the washcloth and ran it under hot water, and then used it to wash Grantaire’s arm, drying it once he was finished with the other washcloth. He washed the other arm the same way, before taking the first back and bandaging it. He had no idea what Master was forcing Grantaire to do at the moment, so he made sure to cover plenty of healthy skin around the wounds and even added a second layer of gauze on top. He was pretty sure it did nothing but give him a little peace of mind, but he needed something to hold on to during the days and nights when the worry ate at him, even when he knew letting his thoughts spiral did nothing but stress him out and did nothing to actually change reality.

Enjolras tucked Grantaire’s arms back in and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, but even when he had finished cleaning up and even washed his hands again for good measure, he found Grantaire sitting there, looking for all the world like no one was home. He had a sudden urge to gather Grantaire in his arms, to try to recall the other man a little bit, but he pushed down that sudden impulse. 

But as he kept looking at Grantaire, even as Grantaire kept not-looking at him, anger rose up to replace that urge. He knew rape was typically about power, not the actual enjoyment of the act, but he still couldn’t understand how sex with an unwilling partner, especially one so far from reality, could be arousing. Even with a willing partner, Enjolras could only connect with the idea via imagining the emotional intimacy of it, and that certainly wasn’t what Master got out of raping Grantaire. 

Enjolras realized he had been idling picking at Grantaire’s blanket as he thought, and he stopped himself with an effort. He hesitated before speaking, as if it might somehow bring their time to an end, even though he was perfectly aware that whether or not he said anything had no effect on the passage of time. “Do you feel up to eating something, Grantaire?” He hadn’t asked the first few days, and more than once Grantaire hadn’t been able to keep what Enjolras gave him down, so even though Enjolras didn’t want to take no for an answer, he knew he might have to.

Grantaire shrugged like it was a Herculean effort but made no move to stand, even though Enjolras knew that shrug was roughly a yes in Silent Grantaire. He wrapped an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders and again held him still until he got his balance and then helped him to the kitchen. He was relieved that Grantaire didn’t stumble this time.

Master was sitting the couch but didn’t look at them as they went by. Enjolras knew he was playing at ignoring them on purpose, but his earlier fears threatened to bubble up inside him. He shoved them down, determined to pretend they didn’t exist, at least until Grantaire had eaten something. 

This was yet another thing Enjolras had worried himself to shreds about, not sure what all Grantaire could tolerate, what of that Master kept in the house, and what of that would help Grantaire recover the fastest. After many sleepless hours that first night, Enjolras had settled on fluids and protein, though he hoped any calories at all would help. He had been surprised Master had not objected to Grantaire eating significantly more than had previously been allowed, but Enjolras didn’t intend to raise any objections.

He helped Grantaire sit on the floor and then poured him a glass of orange juice and watched the other man slowly sip it, even as Enjolras heated up chicken from Master’s dinner the night before in the microwave. He didn’t think the heat did much of anything, but he wanted the food he offered to be as appealing as possible, to encourage Grantaire to eat more. When Grantaire had finished drinking, he took the proffered container of chicken and picked at it, eating one small bit at a time. Enjolras tried not to flinch when he heard Master get up, but this movement was enough to draw Grantaire out of himself, at least a little bit.

His eyes came a little bit more into focus and then he shoved the container back into Enjolras’s hands. Grantaire still said nothing, but it was clear what he wanted. “Grantaire, you need to eat so you can feel better,” Enjolras whispered as calmly as he could manage, even as he wanted to knock Grantaire’s hard head against the wall. 

Grantaire looked at the patch of cabinet behind Enjolras’s shoulder like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “I’m never going to be better, Apollo.”

Enjolras had to force himself to count to five, slowly, before responding. It wouldn’t be right to let his anxiety come out as anger towards Grantaire, especially since the other man would probably sit there and take it without complaint. “I asked you not to call me that, Grantaire,” he said evenly.

“Quod erat demonstrandum,” Grantaire said as he closed his eyes. Enjolras almost laughed, that Grantaire could be curled up half-dead on the floor of his rapist’s kitchen but still be capable of quoting Latin at him. The anger left him as quickly as it had come. 

Before Enjolras could think of something to suitable to say to convey this, and again how he wished for Jehan’s advice, Master loomed over them. The container, and the remaining chicken, went flying across the kitchen floor as Enjolras practically jumped out of his skin. He froze, all his fears surging up. This was when Master would either take his hands or give him a list of chores. Except now he had given Master an excuse to drag the whole excruciating process out for even longer.

“Mmm,” Master hummed, “it’s been a few days since I had you clean the kitchen. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

Enjolras forced himself to move, limbs feeling stiff and awkward, slowly picking up the fallen chicken and then dropping it into the trash. He had been so anxious and focused on Grantaire he hadn’t yet considered his own hunger, but now the knowledge he wouldn’t eat until the evening, at the earliest, filled his empty stomach with a lead weight. He forced himself to kneel back down and bow his head when he had finished, hoping this would be the end.

Master laughed, and even though it was cruel, it was also genuine. “What do you think, slut? Has he learned his lesson?”

Enjolras barely kept himself from reacting, digging his nails into his palms, using the sudden and sharp pain to try to drown out Master’s words. If Grantaire had thought this was the kind of treatment he would suffer, forever, alone, it was no wonder he had been driven off the edge. 

When Grantaire didn’t respond, looking once again totally lifeless, Master let out one of his theatrical but pleased sighs. “Strip,” he ordered. Enjolras lowered his gaze back to his hands and forced himself to keep it there. The silence was broken by a sudden slap, making Enjolras flinch again, and then there was a rustling that meant Grantaire was finally complying. 

“Let me ask my question again,” Master said. “Has he learned his lesson?”

The silence dragged on again, and this time Enjolras couldn’t stop himself, blurting out, “Please don’t hurt him,” just as Grantaire said the same thing, though his tone was far more pleading.

Master laughed so hard he almost choked. Enjolras thought Grantaire would’ve gone pale if hadn’t already been ashen from the blood loss. He himself felt suspended on a tightrope of anger, ready to fall back into terror with the slightest push. If he had just managed to not get caught, they could both be somewhere safe right now. 

“I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to try again, boy,” Master said when he finally controlled himself. 

Enjolras still felt the protective anger enveloping him, and he wanted to snap back he wouldn’t be stupid enough to get caught again, but they would all know he was lying, so he forced himself to say, “No, Master.” He sensed Grantaire slump down a little further. 

“It hurts you to say that, doesn’t it?” Master taunted, even though he knew perfectly well it did. There was a pause. “Even though you know you’d collapse before you made it anywhere, you still think you have a chance. Why is that?”

Enjolras said nothing, and neither did Grantaire. Master rarely asked a question he didn’t already know the answer to, but Enjolras didn’t know what it was this time. He wasn’t sure if he was contrary enough to contradict Master again, but it would be nice to at least know what his options were. He looked at Grantaire from the corner of his eye, wondering if he knew what the right answer was and was avoiding it for whatever reason. He must, because now he looked completely stricken. 

Enjolras barely caught him as he toppled over. Grantaire was holding his head like it hurt or, more likely, as if he were dizzy again, and Enjolras helped lower him into a fetal position, but when he tried to grab the blanket, determined to cover Grantaire up, his arm was jerked back from where Master had beaten him to and grabbed the other corner. “What would you do?” Master asked. Enjolras fell hard from the anger into fear.

He knew he should say anything, looking down at Grantaire, looking down at the man who had thought he might very well be left to freeze to death outside, had possibly even planned on it, and had gone willingly and with no support or comfort. Grantaire’s plan was so obvious in hindsight, and it was no wonder Master had been aware of what was happening, but it had not been the kind of strength Enjolras had ever considered a strength, let alone valued, and he had therefore been blind to it. He didn’t think giving into Master was strength either, but it appeared his view of that quality was warped, to put it mildly.

“Our friends might find me,” he admitted, hastily adding, “Master.” Master released the blanket and silently watched Enjolras cover Grantaire back up, who still held his head in his hands and looked off-kilter, even though he was lying down. 

“Too little too late, but you want him to feel better, don’t you?” Enjolras couldn’t see how Master’s question connected to his last statement, and he was more than a little scared to find out. Master walked away, and for a moment Enjolras thought he was going to somehow re-appear with one or more of their friends, now also captive, even though he knew that was a very irrational thought.

Master came back and dropped a pile of papers in front of Enjolras, using his toe to fan them out. Enjolras had a sinking feeling as he recognized his friends. Was Master going to find them and hurt them too? He looked up, trembling, and Master must have guessed his thoughts. “No need to feel jealous, boy, the two of you are plenty for me. Or really one of you,” he added, leering down at Grantaire. “You really think any of them would see you like this and help you?” 

Enjolras wanted to protest, wanted to argue that his friends were all good people and would help anyone, but it had been weeks since he’d seen them, since he’d spoken to anyone that wasn’t Master or Grantaire, and with Master still lustfully staring at Grantaire, he felt something inside him shrivel up. “No, Master,” he whispered, trying to hold his words in his head as a lie, but feeling so tired and scared that he couldn’t quite manage it.

“See, was that so hard?” Master said, saccharine sweet. “Now, if you can prove to me that you’ve really, truly, learned your lesson, your punishment will be over, and we can go back to normal. I know you really don’t like it,” Master added in the same tone, and Enjolras realized he had begun twisting his fingers together yet again.

“Please just don’t hurt Grantaire. He needs to rest.”

“And whose fault is that?” Master smirked, and Enjolras burned all over with shame. 

“Mine, Master,” he said softly, but loud enough that Grantaire could hear. Maybe one day Grantaire would forgive him.

“See, you’re learning already,” and he sounded proud, like Enjolras was a pet that had finally mastered a difficult trick, and Enjolras couldn’t bear to think of how apt that metaphor might be. Master suddenly threw a pen down on top of pictures. “Now, I’m going to go tuck Grantaire in for a little nap, and nothing will happen to him, just as long you write down everyone’s names for me, along with what they would actually do if you decided to show up on their doorsteps.” 

Master swept Grantaire up easily, making a dramatic showing of keeping him covered with the blanket. He returned fast enough that Enjolras knew he couldn’t have done very much to Grantaire, not that anything nonconsensual was acceptable, but he would have to accept a lower standard now. “Don’t take too long,” Master said, and then he was gone. Once Enjolras heard him go into his office, he let out a shuddering breath.

He was tempted to get up and go check on Grantaire, to satisfy himself before starting his horrible task, but that sort of selfishness without a purpose needed to stop. He made himself look down at the photos.

They weren’t very good quality, and it looked like the printer ink had started to fade on the last few, but everyone was unmistakable. Something was still troubling about them, and Enjolras looked at Combeferre smiling at him and noticed his glasses were different, and then he realized they were all a few years younger. 

He went through and labeled everyone first, assuming this was part of the test, that if Master could get their photos, he must have their names. His hand shook as he wrote, though he had to stare at Jehan’s photo a long time before he recognized them; he thought they had only come to one or two meetings looking like this, and that was so long ago that Enjolras forgot what Jehan had looked like before they felt safe enough to be themselves. He ended up writing Jean Prouvaire on the back, because Jehan felt so far away from this sad and lonely boy that they practically felt like different people.

When he finished, Enjolras was surprised to find Feuilly and Éponine were not included, and he wondered if that was another part of the test, but he hadn’t gotten that feeling from Master. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to remember the two of them, wanting to believe they would give him hope even as Master tried to break down their memories of everyone else, but he had never been good at compartmentalizing, and Enjolras didn’t think he could start now. 

He didn’t know how long it took him to invent horrible things their friends would never do, trying to make them things Master liked anyway, but even as he wrote, everything started to blur together. He told himself it was just the hunger, just the exhaustion, just the constant anxiety about every single thing, that if his friends kicked down the door one day he would gratefully run to them and they would take him to safety, but none of those stressors were going to go away, and Master could make them worse whenever he wanted, and how long could they hold out? Even if he made Grantaire trade happy memories with him, made it part of their nightly routine, if it could be called that, how long could they keep associating them with the people in the pictures?

Enjolras felt shaky and teary when he finally finished, so he made Master lunch as slowly as he could. He dared to creep to the bedroom while the microwave whined loudly, trying to keep his body turned as if he were just walking to the bathroom, a plausible enough excuse given how much time had passed. Grantaire was curled up on the bed, and while Enjolras couldn’t see his face, he thought from Grantaire’s steady breathing that he was actually asleep. Enjolras was tempted to go to him, but it seemed too risky; the best thing he could do for Grantaire now was keep Master happy.

He went back to the kitchen and took the plate of food and the stack of pictures to Master’s office. Enjolras set everything on the desk and retreated out of habit to the spot where he normally waited, though this time he knelt, instead of standing, for good measure. Master ignored him until Enjolras’s knees ached, and only then did he slowly eat his food, and Enjolras thought about how Grantaire was actually resting properly to take his mind off the pain.

Finally, finally, Master picked up the photos, though he tossed them down in disgust after flicking through them. “Enjolras,” and Enjolras knew it was dangerous when Master addressed him by name, knew something terrible was going to happen, “do you care to tell me about the three that are wrong?”

Enjolras shuddered. So Master had expected him to say something about Feuilly and Éponine, had set Enjolras a sickening task but still built a trap into it, determined to find a way to hurt him, or more likely Grantaire, no matter what. But what was the third mistake? It must be Jehan. “I can explain, Master,” Enjolras said, even though he couldn’t, at least not in a way Master would deem acceptable.

“No, no, no.” Master clucked his tongue. “I gave you something to do, Enjolras, and you did not do it. Now you have to face the consequences.”

“No!” Enjolras shouted, realizing too late it must have been loud enough to wake Grantaire, but Master was already up and at the bedroom door before Enjolras had even stood up. 

“I think one orgasm per mistake will suffice.” Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, even as Master adjusted himself in the pajama bottoms he had left on. They both turned to look at Grantaire, who still looked terribly pale but had lifted himself onto one elbow, awakened by all the noise. “It might be a little slower than normal,” Master said with obvious disgust, “so you have plenty of time to fix everything.” And with that, he slammed the door shut, and the last thing Enjolras saw was Grantaire’s eyes growing wide and filling with unshed tears.

He felt rooted to the spot until the noises started, and then he fled back to the office, even as he hated himself for not even being able to bear the sound of what Grantaire was actually having to go through. He had no idea where to start, especially when he was missing two pictures, but then he saw Master had set three of the photos aside. Were these the mistakes? 

He picked them up: Courfeyrac, Cosette, and Bossuet. Enjolras honestly didn’t understand. He repeated their names over and over in his head, wishing for Grantaire’s sake that Master would finish quickly, but also wishing for his own that he would have enough time to solve the riddle. His head hurt so badly. 

Enjolras flicked through the ones he had apparently gotten right, stopping when he got to Jehan. Jehan was Jehan, but Master thought Jean Prouvaire was the right answer? He looked back at the other three, staring at them until it finally clicked, and he hated how his mind felt like molasses. He added the “de” in front of Courfeyrac, having legitimately forgotten it was part of his friend’s legal name. He scribbled out Cosette’s name and wrote Euphrasie instead, hoping he had gotten the spelling right. Finally, he scratched out Bossuet and wrote Lesgle in its place. 

He sank to the floor, drained and exhausted, trying to both think and not think about Grantaire at the same time.


	24. Chapter Twenty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in the present with more of that plot stuff!
> 
> (Also holy crap 100K words...thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this far!)

Enjolras wasn’t sure how it was possible for him to have gotten so much rest but still feel so tired. Master de Courfeyrac had snapped out of his frenetic pace and joined Master Pontmercy out in the hall, and Enjolras could only assume whatever they were discussing meant something bad for him. With the exception of Jehan and Éponine, no one ever came to visit for visiting’s sake, not that Enjolras would have understood that either. 

But now even Jehan had joined them in the hall, though they poked their head back inside at intervals to check on the two of them. Enjolras wasn’t sure what Jehan expected them to do, trapped in the room as they were. Perhaps they were worried Enjolras might take Grantaire to hide in the bathroom again, but he made himself stop thinking about that, because it only made him more worried, and because it got more and more tempting to do it, though he knew it would be futile and stupid.

Grantaire was still holding his hand but had drifted into a more catatonic state. Enjolras half-wanted to rouse him out of it, to take advantage of their little bit of solitude to discuss things, but it seemed unfair to drag Grantaire out of his protective mental bubble, and besides, even if they had the chance to talk themselves hoarse, it wouldn’t change anything. Instead, Enjolras focused on keeping his other hand still and replaying Jehan’s words over and over in his mind for a little comfort.

Finally, Jehan came back with Master Pontmercy, who settled himself on the couch while Jehan came over to the bed. “Would the two of you be able to eat some lunch for me?” they asked, smiling softly like normal, as if the tense meeting in the hall had not happened, as if Master Pontmercy wasn’t already just about asleep on the couch without explanation. 

Enjolras was almost inclined to say no, as most meals were followed by some sort of emotionally stressful situation, but Master Pontmercy was likely going to do…whatever it was he came here to do anyway, and it hardly made sense to deal with that on an empty stomach if given a choice. There was enough tension in Grantaire’s body that Enjolras knew he had come back to reality, at least a little bit, but the other man made no sign either way. “Yes, please,” Enjolras finally said, quiet, trying to make up for how hard he had been to deal with earlier.

Jehan seemed pleased with that answer, and soon enough he and Grantaire were each presented with a plain baked potato and a glass of milk. Master Pontmercy snored softly while they ate in silence. Enjolras felt incredibly full when he was done, and Grantaire picked at the last bits of potato until he managed to finish it. Jehan had been not-watching them eat, while clearly actually watching them, but all they did was clear away the empty plates and cups. 

Enjolras felt his heart start to pound as they did so, afraid of what was going to happen now, but before he could blurt out a question, Jehan spoke. “I’m sure the two of you are very tired, but we have more things we need to ask you about, though we think it would be best for Cosette to be here. She has appointments for a few more hours, and then she’ll be able to come down. Would you like to rest some more until then?”

Enjolras didn’t know how they were supposed to sleep with this unknown fear looming over them, but there was nothing he could do. He made a show of settling back down, and Grantaire burrowed back down into the blankets, drawing them up to his chin. Enjolras was relieved when Jehan shut the curtain. 

There was a rustling and then Master Pontmercy’s snores changed a little, like he had been moved into a different position. Enjolras waited until Jehan resumed knitting. He rolled slowly to his side, and Grantaire did the same, though he kept his eyes closed. At least if Grantaire was trying to avoid a conversation, it meant he was more aware of his surroundings than before. Enjolras still had no idea what to say, so he settled for petting Grantaire’s forehead.

Grantaire relaxed a bit but eventually shrugged off Enjolras’s hand. “You don’t have to do that,” he whispered, eyes still closed.

Enjolras almost said he wanted to do it, but stopped himself, the words sounding too coercive in his head for him to be comfortable saying them out loud, even if Grantaire did look a little sadder now that he had stopped. Instead he asked, “What do you think they were talking about?” His own voice sounded loud in his ears, but the sound of Jehan’s knitting continued unabated.

“Are you planning to do something about it?” Grantaire asked, opening his eyes just long enough to give Enjolras a pointed look. 

“Jehan said they would keep us,” and Enjolras sounded snappish, even to himself, which wasn’t fair to Grantaire at all, given that his only crime was giving voice to Enjolras’s thoughts, and Enjolras knew if he tried something anyway, Grantaire would never mention the disagreement, only intervene and try to take his punishment for him. Enjolras was just so tired. But Grantaire must be even more tired, even if he didn’t complain. 

“I’m sorry, Grantaire. I’m just – afraid.” 

“I’m here, Enjolras.” Enjolras didn’t know which of the many meanings behind that simple phrase Grantaire intended, and he didn’t know how to say he was so afraid precisely because Grantaire was there and could come to so much grief on his account, so he just squeezed the other man’s hand instead.

Grantaire said nothing more, and eventually his breathing evened out in sleep. Enjolras tried to follow his example, but it wasn’t as easy for him to accept the future was out of his control and sleep instead. 

He must have actually fallen asleep at some point, because he woke to Grantaire shaking him, and voices in the hall. Enjolras easily recognized Mistress Fauchelevent, and he thought the male voice belonged to the security guard, who sounded apologetic and closer than usual, like he had stepped in slightly to hold the door open. “Again, I’m very sorry for the misunderstanding, Dr. Pontmercy. Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

Enjolras felt a knot settling back into his chest. So he had not misheard that other time, Mistress Fauchelevent really was called Dr. Pontmercy, though he still didn’t understand why. “I’m sure Dr. Joly would appreciate another apology the next time he comes by to check on them, but you were just doing your job, and I appreciate that.” Enjolras heard Jehan approach and tried to wipe the confusion from his face by the time they peeped in, but he wasn’t sure he had been completely successful.

“Hello,” Jehan said, still smiling like everything was normal. “Do you feel up to talking now?” Enjolras nodded and helped Grantaire sit up as Jehan drew the curtain back open. Mistress Fauchelevent was petting Master Pontmercy’s head, while he sipped from a coffee cup with his eyes almost completely closed, though he perked up the more he drank.

“Sorry,” he said, “I forgot how terrible being up all night is. I don’t know how En- how, uh, so many college students do it so often.” How did Master Pontmercy know about Enjolras’s sleepless nights when he was separated from Grantaire? He must have just guessed; it wasn’t exactly a major leap of logic. 

But did the reference mean he was going to encourage Jehan to keep that punishment up once they left the hospital? Enjolras realized he was crushing Grantaire’s hand and relaxed his grip. Grantaire’s face softened slightly, but otherwise he gave no acknowledgement of the pain he must’ve been in. How much harder must this be for Grantaire, in danger of being hurt by anyone if Jehan allowed it and actually being hurt, albeit on accident, by Enjolras?

Master Pontmercy had uncurled himself from the couch and was digging out his laptop. Mistress Fauchelevent and Jehan, who was drinking a hot tea and actually looked very sad, were having some sort of silent conversation, though Jehan forced themselves to smile when they saw Enjolras watching. Cosette just frowned slightly and looked the two of them over. 

“Hi,” Master Pontmercy said, once he had finally finished whatever he was doing. Enjolras wondered if he was going to be asked to look at pictures again, and for a terrible second he thought they might be of Master, but he tried to reassure himself that Master de Courfeyrac had only just left and it wouldn’t be physically possible for the investigation to have properly started yet, let alone have been completed. 

“Alright, so, I know this is going to be hard, probably, I mean, of course it will be hard, but we just want you to get better, and there’s probably no good way, but you know-” Enjolras was surprised how nervous Master Pontmercy sounded. Master had never been nervous when he hurt them.

“What Marius is trying to say,” Mistress Fauchelevent cut in, sounding much more collected, and Enjolras noticed she rubbed Master Pontmercy’s shoulder for a little, like he did when he didn’t want Grantaire to think he was actually upset, “is that we want to better understand what you went through, and the only way we can do that is by asking you some questions. Of course we can try to guess, but we’ll probably get some things wrong, and they might be very important things.” 

She collected her thoughts for a moment. “I don’t want to lie and say this will be easy, and to be frank, you’re both going to need a lot of therapy to process everything, and it’s probably going to be uncomfortable most of the time, but I will do my best to making everything the least unpleasant as I can. But I can’t do that unless I know where we’re starting from.

“Now, I know this isn’t technically a therapy session, but normally I’d still want to talk to you each privately, except, since this seems to be a shared issue, I don’t think it can hurt for us all to discuss it together.” Enjolras did not like the idea of Grantaire being forced to talk to Mistress Fauchelevent privately, most especially because he had a strong suspicion Grantaire would simply refuse to speak and then be punished, but Jehan was nodding along with what she said. Enjolras would have to try to think of something to prevent it later.

“I’d also typically recommend waiting to work on your emotional issues until you’re physically better, but I think in this case the stress will slow down your recovery.” Jehan was still nodding in agreement. Perhaps they were getting tired of Enjolras and Grantaire still being hospitalized and were getting impatient to take them home and do…whatever it was they planned on doing. That didn’t really seem to line up with Jehan’s actions, but Enjolras had no other explanation.

Mistress Fauchelevent stopped speaking and looked between Enjolras and Grantaire, like she wanted a response, but Enjolras couldn’t bring himself to agree, not when Grantaire was practically petrified next him, not when it was going to happen no matter what he said. 

“Alright, now, I’m going to make one of those guesses I said I don’t really like. You think that we’re going to hurt you.” 

Enjolras blinked a few times. He didn’t just think it, he knew it, but he doubted quibbling over semantics would be a good idea, not when Mistress Fauchelevent was already unhappy and therefore primed to be quick to anger. But even though he knew he would be hurt, the situation had changed from when he had first woken up, hadn’t it?

“If – if that’s what Jehan wants,” he said cautiously, omitting the honorific since Mistress Fauchelevent looked too young to be called ma’am, and it seemed easier to just wait to be punished and told what to use than to guess and be wrong. Grantaire gently squeezed his hand, in agreement and solidarity.

Jehan looked absolutely horrified and somehow stayed on the couch despite looking like they wanted nothing more than to flee. The knot in Enjolras’s chest tightened. He didn’t know what he had done wrong. To say no would’ve been a lie, and to give an unqualified yes would’ve been in clear defiance of Jehan.

“We’ll be good,” Enjolras said, trying to fix whatever he had done wrong, which meant they clearly knew he couldn’t be good, so he hastily added, “We never mean to be bad.” That wasn’t strictly true either, but it seemed much safer to say that than admit that he sometimes stole food and Grantaire hoarded medical supplies. 

“Enjolras, I promised no one would hurt you!” Jehan sounded so genuinely upset that Enjolras would’ve felt bad for them if he understood what was wrong. 

“I thought – I thought you meant-” but Enjolras didn’t really know what he had thought, let alone how to articulate it. This obviously did nothing to placate Jehan, and Enjolras longed for Grantaire to say something, to save them from this impossible situation, like he sometimes did, but the other man remained silent, no doubt just as confused. 

“Maybe we should just rip this off like a band-aid?” Master Pontmercy suggested quietly, more to Mistress Fauchelevent than to the room in general. 

Mistress Fauchelevent took a minute to compose herself. “Alright, I think we can at the very least agree that there is some disconnect on this issue.” While not inaccurate, that seemed like quite an understatement to Enjolras.

Master Pontmercy looked at Mistress Fauchelevent before speaking. “Do you think the two could look at some pictures for me and tell me if they look familiar?” 

Enjolras very much wanted to do anything else, but he made himself nod, and Grantaire slowly slid down the bed so that his view was no longer mostly obscured by Enjolras. Master Pontmercy came close enough for them to see before turning his laptop to face them.

Enjolras wondered why Grantaire’s sobs were so loud and why he could feel his body next to him, since he was supposed to be in the bedroom with Master. Enjolras could feel the pen in his hand and the urgency that he needed to fix his mistakes, now, before something even worse happened to Grantaire, but he looked down at his lap and saw only blankets.

Somehow Enjolras suddenly had the laptop, but he wasn’t sure if he grabbed it or if Master Pontmercy had given it to him. Not that it was important, because the only thing that mattered was getting this right. He felt the urge to throw up, but there was no time for that, not when Grantaire was suffering so badly.

Enjolras had started crying too, and it was hard to see through the tears, and it was hard to type with shaky hands long out of practice, but he worked as quickly as he could. He could hear people talking, but Grantaire was still crying, so he ignored them, determined not to be distracted from his task when Grantaire was in distress. 

The laptop wobbled wildly when he finished and tried thrusting it in Master Pontmercy’s general direction. Once it had been taken from his hands, Enjolras wrapped Grantaire into as tight of a hug has he had the strength to give. He knew he shouldn’t, knew Grantaire hated any physical contact, let alone this much, after being raped, let alone after being raped multiple times, but he also knew on some level that Grantaire had not left his side, even though it didn’t make sense.

Grantaire kept crying, and Enjolras kept holding him. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, didn’t know why they were allowed to comfort each other for so long, but they were. Finally, as his tears slowed, his surroundings became clearer, and Enjolras realized he was still in the hospital, had never left except in his mind. He felt so hot and sick with shame that he wished he could disappear, especially when he looked up and saw Dr. Combeferre had come, probably summoned by Jehan, if the way they were hovering was any indication.

Dr. Combeferre came closer when he saw Enjolras move and tried to coax him to breathe more slowly. Enjolras felt stupid but did his best to comply, afraid of what would happen if he didn’t, which just made it harder to listen and made him feel even more stupid; Master’s orders had certainly been more complicated than breathing. When Enjolras had calmed enough to realize Grantaire was still crying, he ignored Dr. Combeferre’s further instructions, though he simply gave them some space instead of punishing them. Jehan must not have allowed it.

Enjolras still had no real idea what to do for Grantaire, and even though he knew he should start by releasing the other man, he couldn’t make himself do it, so he settled for slowly rocking him. Eventually, Grantaire’s tears tapered off, though he left his eyes closed to prevent Enjolras from starting a conversation, and Enjolras couldn’t even blame him this time.

Dr. Combeferre came back, and Enjolras was worried Jehan had changed their mind about punishment, but the only thing he did to Grantaire was give him something for the impending headache. Enjolras tensed up when he turned to him, but he only asked, “Enjolras, do you feel like you’re going to throw up again?”

Enjolras did his best to assess. The overwhelming urge from earlier had passed, but he still felt like he easily could, if he wanted to. He didn’t know how specific Dr. Combeferre wanted him to be, so he quietly ventured, “Not right now, sir.”

“Cosette and Marius have a few more things to say. Given that, do you feel it would be best if I gave you something for the nausea?” Enjolras knew it was very likely the discussion would make him panic again, but he didn’t know the right answer, and Jehan’s face gave no clear indication, so Enjolras nodded very tentatively. 

Dr. Comebeferre gave him a pill, and Enjolras dry-swallowed it, realizing too late he couldn’t be sure if it really was anti-nausea medication, but when he started to feel better just a few minutes later, he was relieved to know he had not been tricked.

When Dr. Combeferre walked away again, Grantaire pulled his blankets around him and turned away from Enjolras, curling up in the fetal position. It hurt Enjolras that there was nothing he could do to make Grantaire feel even a little bit better, except do his best to prevent any new tortures.

“Enjolras,” Mistress Fauchelevent called, “I’m sorry for triggering you, but I have a few more questions.” Enjolras shifted to face the couch, trying to block as much of Grantaire’s body with his own as he could. “Can you tell me why you used these names to label the pictures?”

Enjolras laced his own fingers together, since he could no longer hold Grantaire’s hand. He looked at them carefully, liked they could tell him the right answers. “They were the right names.”

“Is that what your captor told you?”

Enjolras nodded.

“Do you know why Feuilly and Éponine aren’t here?”

“No. He – he never said anything about them.”

“And you forgot them? And forgot what Jehan looks like?”

“They don’t look like – like him.” The sentence sounded awkward to Enjolras, but he didn’t know how else to explain. At least Jehan didn’t appear offended. 

“Enjolras, I know this might be a hard question, but can you explain why you think we’ll hurt you?”

He didn’t want to answer, but he could feel Grantaire’s body heat next to him. “Because – because I had to make – to make lists of what would happen if you found us.” Jehan made a sad sound and leaned their head on to Master Pontmercy’s shoulder, who also looked quite sad. Dr. Combeferre started cleaning his glasses in the corner where he sat, though his face remained impassive. Mistress Fauchelevent looked thoughtful, of all things. She said something into Master Pontmercy’s ear before turning back to Enjolras.

“Did Grantaire have to do this too, Enjolras?”

“No, he just had to listen.” Enjolras did not add the part about Grantaire being punished when Enjolras didn’t think of enough terrible things to satisfy Master. 

“Alright. Enjolras, I’m sure you’ve very tired, but once you’ve gotten some more rest, I’m going to give you some homework to do. Combeferre is going to go print you some new pictures, and I want you to write down what we actually like to be called and one nice thing each of us would do for you.” Enjolras felt his stomach sink. There’s no way he could do this, no way Grantaire wouldn’t be punished. “Jehan can help if you need,” and they nodded solemnly, and Enjolras relaxed slightly, since giving what Jehan thought were the right answers would be much easier if they told him.

Mistress Fauchelevent and Master Pontmercy gathered their things to leave. Dr. Combeferre said something to Jehan and followed the two of them out. Jehan fluttered about the room, bringing yet another blanket over to the bed, indicating Enjolras should give it to Grantaire. He didn’t understand why Jehan would want to do that, but maybe they had not intended the two of them to get as upset as they did. 

Enjolras tucked the blanket around Grantaire as carefully as he could, his heart hurting with how tense Grantaire still was, obviously awake and miserable but unwilling, or unable, to let Enjolras comfort him. By the time Enjolras had fussed as much as he dared, afraid, though in different ways, of both Jehan and Grantaire, Dr. Combeferre had returned. 

He handed a few sheets of paper to Jehan, and Enjolras could see through them enough to tell they were the pictures Mistress Fauchelevent had mentioned, though Enjolras was relieved Jehan sat them aside on the couch instead of bringing them over immediately. 

Enjolras was much less relieved when Dr. Combeferre came over instead.

“I have a few of my own questions, Enjolras,” he said quietly, and it didn’t seem like Dr. Combeferre intended to hurt him. “I thought that perhaps your flashback before was a one-time occurrence, but it doesn’t seem that way. Do they interfere with your ability to function on a regular basis?”

Enjolras didn’t know what to say; he had no idea what Dr. Combeferre would consider a regular basis. “I always get my work done, sir,” he said, trying to anticipate where the conversation was going. Dr. Combeferre didn’t need to know sometimes Enjolras only finished that work after being punished.

“Would you prefer if I prescribed you something that you can take when a panic attack starts? It’ll be like what we’ve given both of you before to help relax enough for sleep, just stronger and faster.”

Enjolras considered this. He had just accepted the panic attacks and flashbacks as a fact of life, the same way he got hungry when Master starved him, the same way he got tired when he was too anxious about Grantaire to sleep. It was a very odd thought that he might regain some control over himself, that he could prevent the humiliation of losing his mind when something scared him too much.

“Enjolras, I understand if you’d prefer to try to handle this without medication, but Cosette and I have discussed this, and it’s going to take a long time to resolve the underlying issues. I hate to see you suffer needlessly.”

Enjolras finally nodded, unable to resist against Dr. Combeferre’s insistent gaze and Jehan’s imploring look. “Very good, Enjolras,” Dr. Combeferre praised. “I’ll send something to the pharmacy right now and have them send it up when it’s filled. It should be here when you wake up.”

At this suggestion, Enjolras realized he was once again exhausted. He marveled how soft he had already gotten with a few days of coddling; it was going to be a rude awakening when he was expected to work again. He jumped in surprise when Dr. Combeferre helped pull the blankets back up over him but settled a bit when he saw he didn’t intend to hurt him. 

Dr. Combeferre pushed his glasses up his nose. “Good night, Enjolras,” he said and shut the curtain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably no new chapters until Friday, but then it's a four day weekend for me, so probably extra chapters next weekend to make up for it!


	25. Chapter Twenty-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but E/R finally talk about some of their Feelings, so I hope that's a fair trade?
> 
>  
> 
> ***Trigger warning for some (mild) self-harm***

Enjolras blinked awake, the hospital room illuminated only by the dimmed overhead light, unsure what had woken him. There was a quick and bright burst of panic when he realized Grantaire’s hand was not in his, but then he recalled the other man’s earlier withdrawal; Enjolras was honestly a little surprised he had fallen asleep after all, without the habitual contact, but he clearly had. 

Enjolras rolled to his side, expecting Grantaire to still be balled up and facing away from him, but, to his surprise, Grantaire had scooted very close and was watching him with huge eyes. Enjolras felt his stomach drop, and for a second they were back in the crawlspace and he was trying to ignore his hunger to save his hidden rations and Grantaire was saying what sounded like nonsense and Enjolras thought he was going to have to look for the medicine Dr. Combeferre promised, but that thought, grounded in the present, was enough to keep the panic at bay. 

But if they were really in the hospital, why was Grantaire giving him that same look of terrible despair? Enjolras knew it was terrible because Grantaire had not turned away or even averted his eyes, even though Enjolras was now awake and paying attention to him. Enjolras hesitated, not wanting to speak before he could better ascertain what had brought Grantaire to this state of mind, when he noticed the other man had removed his hoodie and folded it carefully on his lap.

Enjolras immediately reached for Grantaire’s forehead, experiencing that terrible roller coaster sensation in his gut at the thought that Grantaire’s fever might have returned; his own had, briefly, and Grantaire had been much sicker. Enjolras felt weak with relief when Grantaire was cool under his hand, and when Grantaire didn’t flinch from his touch, though the other man left his eyes closed for a long moment after Enjolras withdrew. 

Then Enjolras had another horrible thought: had someone raped Grantaire, or at the very least, forced him to partially undress, all while Enjolras slept blissfully and stupidly through it? His fear must have shown in his face, because before he could say anything, Grantaire shook his head, though his expression didn’t change. 

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand as best he could, since it was buried under the blankets, before turning cautiously away and pulling back a bit of the curtain, careful to only move a piece of the fabric so that it made no noise. Éponine had returned, wearing fresh clothes, and she was curled up again with Jehan, both asleep. Enjolras checked that the door was shut, remembering how Dr. Joly had surprised them in the ICU, though now they at least had the additional privacy and time provided by the curtain, which Enjolras let fall back into place.

Grantaire had not moved. Enjolras paused again before speaking, still having no idea what had caused this. The earlier conversation was so overwhelming that he couldn’t bear to replay it in his mind yet to try to find the cause, and he knew Grantaire wouldn’t say. 

“Are you too warm?” Enjolras asked very quietly, finally, when it became clear Grantaire would remain silent indefinitely if left unprompted. 

Grantaire only shrugged, though it was delayed and slow, like he really was sick again and even small movements were painful and tiring. 

Enjolras tried for another muffled hand squeeze, though it was just an ineffective as the last one. He bit back a sigh, not wanting Grantaire to mistake his frustration at not knowing what to do as frustration with Grantaire himself. “Do you want me to get you something else to wear?” Enjolras wasn’t sure if Jehan would allow it, but the box of their clothes had been moved back out of the bathroom, and he could probably get to it without waking Éponine or Jehan if he was slow and patient enough; they could always hide it under the blankets with Grantaire’s old shirt before opening the curtain in the morning.

“No,” Grantaire said sharply, afraid and too loud, but when Enjolras quickly checked, they hadn’t disturbed either of the couch’s occupants. “No,” Grantaire repeated more quietly though not necessarily more calmly, “I’m fine.”

Enjolras wanted to point out Grantaire was clearly not fine, but that would hardly be productive. “Do you want my, well your, sweater?” he asked instead.

Grantaire actually appeared to be considering this but then he looked even a little bit sadder and shook his head. 

“Grantaire, you should be warm,” though Enjolras left the “while you can” unspoken, the unknown future still too terrifying to contemplate. 

“The blankets are fine.” Grantaire made a show of pulling the blankets up, though he did so by awkwardly shrugging his shoulders, rather than using his hands.

“Grantaire, let me see your arms.” 

Grantaire’s eyes flashed and he went pale, holding perfectly still before diving under the blankets and pulling them over his head. For a brief moment Enjolras thought of waking Jehan, knowing they could force Grantaire to obey, but Grantaire would never trust him again if he did; he didn’t even trust Enjolras with much now.

Enjolras longed for guidance, for someone to help him know the best way to deal with this, but he was on his own, just like always. Slowly, he slid down his side of the bed and under the covers, before starting to gently peel away the barrier separating him from Grantaire. He could feel the tension of Grantaire holding the last few layers firmly in place, but when Enjolras reached that point, Grantaire suddenly let go; when Enjolras had cleared away the last bits of blanket, he saw this was because Grantaire had pulled his arms against his chest, now bare without the hoodie.

Grantaire tensed when Enjolras reached out, hugging the insides of his forearms in tightly. Enjolras took both of Grantaire’s hands in his own without pulling them out of place, stroking the knuckles, remaining silent since nothing he had said so far had exactly been helpful. Even though Grantaire wasn’t doing much beyond breathing slightly hard and holding his arms in place, his illness had taken his toll, and eventually he ran out of energy and resistance. 

Enjolras gently pulled his arms down though he left his gaze on Grantaire’s face, partially afraid of what he would see, partially wanting Grantaire to see how he was concerned rather than angry, but Grantaire had squeezed his eyes shut. Enjolras made himself look.

Grantaire’s arms were covered in numerous thin scratches, and quite a few small bruises were blooming on the remaining skin. Enjolras knew he should ask first, but even as he processed that thought, he was already gathering Grantaire into his own arms; Grantaire didn’t cry, perhaps emotionally spent from earlier, but Enjolras rocked him nonetheless. 

“Will you – will you give me a warning?” Grantaire mumbled into his shoulders, voice shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras replied into his short curls, hot guilt curling up in his chest. “I should’ve asked first.”

“No, not that. I mean when you – when you-” but his voice broke and he couldn’t finish the sentence, but at least Enjolras knew what Grantaire thought would happen, even if he didn’t know why.

“Grantaire, I’m not leaving you!” He wanted to pull away enough to make eye contact with the other man, to let him see the truth of his conviction, but Grantaire probably wouldn’t look, and Enjolras didn’t want him to take the loss of physical contact as rejection. 

Grantaire huffed a bitter laugh, but then grew quiet and morose again. “Please don’t fight it, Enjolras,” he finally said, very quietly. “I don’t want you to suffer.”

It was no wonder Enjolras could almost never guess Grantaire’s private thoughts, because even now that he was verbalizing them, Enjolras was just as confused and lost as before. “Grantaire, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not going to let them take you away. Jehan promised they would keep both of us!” Now Enjolras was the one getting too loud and desperate; did Grantaire overhear something while he was asleep? But no, Grantaire had been upset before that, his distress couldn’t be caused by some information he had been keeping secret.

Grantaire gave another not-laugh. “But they didn’t say anything when she was talking about what would happen.”

“Mistress Fauchelevent?” Enjolras almost felt stupid but he didn’t understand. “What part of what she said?” There had been so much, and Enjolras still couldn’t process it properly.

Grantaire was still again, but eventually he whispered, “The therapy,” like the words caused him physical pain, which wasn’t even that inaccurate, since it seemed that the emotional distress behind them had driven Grantaire to hurt himself.

“I don’t understand,” Enjolras said, because he still didn’t. He hoped Grantaire wouldn’t stop talking before he did.

“Why do you think they want you to do it?” Grantaire was edging closer and closer to hysterical.

“They – they seem to want us to behave…differently?” Even though Jehan never seemed angry at their behavior, they were often upset by it, and Enjolras and Grantaire needed to learn to behave better; the idea of using therapy as a correction tool was odd, now that Grantaire pointed it out, but if that’s what Jehan thought would be best, that was their decision. Enjolras had already been so bad, the thought of talking back on that issue hadn’t occurred to him, though he wished it had, so that maybe Grantaire wouldn’t have been so upset.

“In what way?” If Enjolras hadn’t been so relieved he and Grantaire were finally managing to have a meaningful conversation, he would’ve been tempted to ask why it needed to be conducted via Socratic dialogue, but he was too grateful for such petty complaints. 

Enjolras thought and thought, but he still couldn’t guess what Grantaire thought Jehan thought, but he did know what Grantaire thought. “You think they’ll trick us into being separated?” Enjolras could try to remain constantly vigilant, but he knew from experience what a toll that took, how utterly drained and exhausted he would be at the end of the day, how wearying it became to know he would feel that way at the end of each subsequent, on and on for eternity. 

Grantaire said nothing. Clearly Enjolras had guessed wrong. He tried to push the panic down, not wanting to have to resort to his medication and not be totally clear-headed for this discussion. He thought and thought some more, and when he realized, he again that horrible feeling of missing a step and then plummeting into nothingness. “You think they’ll make me want to leave you?”

Apparently having his greatest fear spoken aloud was the trigger Grantaire needed, and now his tears came. Enjolras rocked him again, trying to soothe himself with the rhythm as well. How could Grantaire possibly think Enjolras would ever leave him voluntarily? Probably because Enjolras had done that once, but didn’t Grantaire know how much Enjolras was tormented by that failing, both in not getting help and in not refusing to leave without Grantaire? How could Grantaire not know he would never do such a thing again?

But maybe Master knew Grantaire didn’t know that. How much time had Grantaire spent alone with him, how many easy opportunities would there have been for Master to twist Grantaire’s thoughts away from the truth? How long could Enjolras have held up if Grantaire had once left and then Master repeatedly suggested it might happen again? It was hard to pose the theoretical question, since Grantaire would never, ever do such a thing, had proved he would literally rather die, but Enjolras couldn’t lie to himself about the answer.

Grantaire finally quieted, though Enjolras assumed it was due to exhaustion rather than any emotional resolution. This time he did make Grantaire look at him, sliding down a bit and only pulling Grantaire back as far as necessary. “Grantaire, I am never leaving you.” Enjolras didn’t know if it counted as emphasis if it was placed on every word, but he tried to pour the strength of his feelings into each one. 

“That’s what you say now,” Grantaire said weakly, eyes roving over Enjolras’s face like he was trying to memorize it, like he thought soon all he would have left were those memories. 

Enjolras bit his lip, an idea forming. Grantaire would be angry and scared, at least briefly, but that somehow seemed better than this despair. He held Grantaire very close again, taking advantage of their altered position to press their foreheads together, reminding himself why he was going to do this, why he had to do this. Once he had built his courage up, Enjolras gave Grantaire one final squeeze and then pulled away.

Before he could think any longer about what he was doing, Enjolras ripped the curtain open. “I’m not doing any therapy,” he announced, even though Éponine and Jehan had only just jerked awake and certainly hadn’t understood, even though his voice wavered more than he would’ve liked. Grantaire grasped his elbow; Enjolras did not pull away, but he didn’t let Grantaire change his mind either. 

Jehan was still blinking owlishly, while Éponine had jumped up and seemed surprisingly alert, though she stayed a fair distance from the bed. “What did you say, Enjolras?” she asked. 

Enjolras waited until Jehan looked more awake. He hated that he had to swallow hard and take a deep breath to steady himself. “I said, I’m not doing any therapy.”

Neither Éponine nor Jehan replied, both just staring silently at him. Enjolras was ashamed when he had to look down, but he still couldn’t handle this prolonged scrutiny. But he couldn’t handle the uncertainty of the silence either, so he watched from under his eyelashes. It looked like Jehan was trying to get Éponine’s attention, but she either didn’t see or was purposely ignoring them. Grantaire had shifted so that both his hands were fisted into the back of Enjolras’s sweater.

Éponine finally shrugged. “Alright.” But Jehan still looked uncertain, and it was their opinion that ultimately mattered; Éponine could be a helpful ally, but she probably couldn’t force Jehan to do anything. 

“Enjolras, why don’t you want to?” Jehan asked, and at least they sounded gentle and not upset about being dragged out of sleep in the middle of the night by Enjolras being a very bad boy. 

“Jehan, does it matter why? He doesn’t want to.”

Even though Éponine sounded a little harsh, Jehan softened. “Cosette thinks it would be really helpful, but it can wait until you feel comfortable.”

“No, I’m never doing it.” Enjolras knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he was never going to be comfortable doing anything that would make Grantaire think he would leave.

Jehan opened their mouth to say more, but now Éponine had turned to look at them, and she shook her head. Jehan softened a little further. “Alright, I’m sorry, Enjolras. I just want you to feel better. But you don’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to anymore.” Éponine nodded, satisfied, placated. “You’re allowed to change your mind though, you just have to let us know.” Enjolras shook his head, more for Grantaire’s benefit than Jehan’s. 

“Grantaire, would you still like therapy?” Jehan then asked, surprising Enjolras. He had become so focused that he hadn’t even considered the opposite scenario. Enjolras felt Grantaire’s hands tighten in the sweater, though the other man stayed silent; Enjolras wasn’t sure if Éponine and Jehan knew what that meant. 

They must have, because the two of them shared a silent conversation this time. “R, do you remember before?” Jehan finally asked, even softer this time.

Grantaire shook his head very quickly, and Enjolras knew that meant Grantaire was lying. Whenever he tried to think about the time before captivity, everything was too jumbled, and trying to piece it together gave him a raging headache, so he had given up years ago. He wondered what Grantaire had retained. 

Éponine and Jehan had another silent discussion. Éponine shrugged again. “That’s fine too.”

The tension drained from Enjolras, chased out by bone-deep exhaustion now that he had been, against all odds, successful. Before he could pull the curtain closed again, Éponine rummaged around and came back with two bottles of water. There was a sudden flurry behind Enjolras, and he turned to see Grantaire frantically tugging the hoodie back on. 

Éponine narrowed her eyes as she approached; she must have caught a glimpse of Grantaire’s new injuries. Enjolras had hoped they could’ve been kept secret until at least the scratches were healed and the bruises could be passed off as some sort of symptom of malnutrition, not having any frame of reference for what the masters might do about self-inflicted injuries that were not significant enough to require medical care. But now it was far too late for any of that.

Éponine glanced over her shoulder, to where Jehan was now gazing out the window into the dark night. She looked back at Grantaire, her gaze serious but not severe. When the silence dragged on, Enjolras grew more and more afraid of what she might do, but finally she nodded to herself and quietly said, “It’d probably be a good idea to leave that hoodie on for now.” Enjolras looked up in surprise; was Éponine really not even going to tell Jehan? The thought made his head swim with the terror of being a bad boy, keeping secrets like that, but it also somehow made him feel safe.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire as they each accepted one of the water bottles, and he looked just as confused as Enjolras felt. Éponine watched them drink, thoughtfully, before she finally said, softly enough that Jehan didn’t register it in their reverie, “R, if Enjolras tries to go anywhere, I’m going to kick his ass.” 

Enjolras almost laughed, despite everything. It most likely would have scared him if anyone else had said that, but somehow Éponine’s humor diffused the fear enough that he could see the gentle humor there; it also didn’t hurt that he had no intention of leaving Grantaire, thus giving her no reason to carry out the threat. Grantaire said nothing but looked closer to thoughtful than sad. Maybe Éponine’s kindness has dispelled his earlier fear of her?

She watched them until they had obediently finished their water and then gave them a small smile before returning their privacy. Enjolras was relieved when Grantaire didn’t immediately pull away. He thought Grantaire would feel better with more contact than usual while they slept, and even though the other man had specifically and enthusiastically requested it while drugged, Enjolras couldn’t be sure it was a good idea now, and the last thing he wanted to do was pressure Grantaire after all the turmoil.

Enjolras settled down on his side and took Grantaire’s hand, determined to at least regain some normality to their sleeping positions, but he left his body tilted open in invitation. Grantaire looked uncertain but then shuffled infinitesimally closer. Enjolras leaned over to adjust Grantaire’s hood to cover a few stray curls on his forehead that Grantaire had missed in his rush, and Grantaire didn’t quite move all the way back once Enjolras had finished. 

Ever so slowly, Grantaire settled his head on top of Enjolras’s shoulder, squirming a little until he found a comfortable position. Enjolras felt something warm bloom in his chest. There was every chance he might wake up in the morning to a guilty or sad Grantaire because of this, but for now he was going to enjoy it. “Good night,” he whispered, daring to press a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head. Grantaire said nothing but snuggled a tiny bit closer, and once his breathing had evened out, Enjolras allowed himself to fall asleep as well.


	26. Chapter Twenty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eponine's perspective this time! And some more discussion of Feelings.

Éponine cracked her neck to both sides when she woke up. Some people thought her talent at sleeping just about anywhere meant she was comfortable just about anywhere. She was still just as capable at feeling the discomfort of curling up on a hospital sofa night after night as anyone else, thank you very much, she was just particularly good at ignoring it. 

On the other hand, she long suspected Jehan of being a cat, ie they were a liquid that changed shape based on their surroundings and could easily take up the entire couch as fit on half a cushion, but it didn’t appear they had gone back to sleep after Enjolras’s midnight outburst. At least that was her guess based on the two newly finished baby hats sitting between them and the one still on their needles that Jehan looked close to adding to the pile. 

She listened before she said anything, checking for that weird not-silence that happened when Grantaire and Enjolras had their private conversations, but there was just normal silence. A quick check of her phone showed it wasn’t yet 9 in the morning. Also that the only unread texts in their group message were from Courfeyrac, but she left those alone for the time being. 

“You haven’t told Cosette yet?” she asked Jehan by way of greeting, propping her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. 

“Good morning, Éponine,” they said, quiet and polite but tired, and said nothing else as they finished their row, even though Jehan could discuss the most esoteric of topics while knitting. They set their work down. “I thought it would be better to go talk to her in person.” 

“Isn’t she already here?” Éponine couldn’t be bothered to check the shared calendar Cosette had made for this express purpose. It had taken her too damned long already to figure out how to turn off the notifications she kept getting reminding her even caregivers need breaks too. She could take a break when she was dead.

Jehan hummed in agreement. “I didn’t want to leave before they wake up.” They looked up at the bed sadly for a moment. “I assume there will be some sort of aftermath to deal with this morning.”

“You mean Enjolras will probably freak the fuck out about having freaked the fuck out?”

Jehan’s lips twitched but they didn’t smile. “I wasn’t going to put it quite like that, but yes. I hardly feel like it’s a proper guess to say they would assume I’m up to something…unpleasant if I were out this morning.” They sighed and stopped knitting again. “I still have no idea how much they actually believe me and how much they are just pretending in order to appease me, but I thought it could hardly hurt to reassure them again that I’m not upset.”

Éponine uncurled herself enough to tip forward to wrap Jehan up in a hug. “I’m sorry, Jehan. I know you didn’t ask for this.”

They huffed. “I always promised myself I would do whatever I could to help if they came back. I’m hardly about to break that promise just because it’s uncomfortable for me.”

“Jehan, they think you’re their new master or whatever the fuck replacement figure you’re supposed to be. I would be worried if you had zero issues with that.”

“I know, but they don’t need to know I have those issues, at least not for a very long time. I don’t want them to spend a single second worried they’ll have to go back to that monster. I can deal with a little discomfort for that.”

“You mean a lot discomfort?” Jehan’s lips just twitched again, and they lapsed into companionable silence, before Jehan finally broke it by asking, “Why do you think R took off Enjolras’s hoodie?”

“I don’t know. If I were a betting woman, I’d wager it had something to do with him feeling like total shit about what happened.”

“Éponine, you are a betting woman.”

“So my point stands.” She shrugged. “I’m assuming it was Enjolras’s idea for him to wear it, and he probably didn’t think he deserved it anymore or something. Well, OK, let’s be real for a second – I doubt R ever thought he deserved it, but he hit some mental breaking point about it.”

“Which I presume is the going-to-therapy part? My only thought is he has retained some memories of therapy, but he always seemed to find it genuinely helpful.” Jehan did something complicated with their knitting.

“Yeah, and that’s the problem. R probably thinks it’s going to be too helpful. Except my PhD in How Actual Real Live People Work tells me even we could flip a magic switch to cure Enjolras’s anxiety, he’s not going anywhere.”

Jehan gave her the uncharacteristically sharp look reserved for whenever she mentioned her lack of college credentials, which hardly ever bothered her, usually, but they were too tired to go through their well-worn argument about it. “I was thinking along those same lines. I tried to read whatever I could find on co-dependency after what Cosette said, and I’m sure poor R is terrified he’ll lose his ability to take care of Enjolras.” They looked up, startled, but before they could continue, Éponine just shook her head. 

“I know, I seriously fucked that one up.” She knew she was going to continue to fuck a lot, like a lot a lot, when it came to Grantaire and Enjolras, but she was still human and she still felt bad about it. “I thought R would prioritize their basic needs being met, but my phrasing could have used a little work.”

“Éponine, do you know how many mistakes I’m going to make? You can’t beat yourself up like this. It’s not productive for anyone.” Jehan stopped to give her an actual smile and squeeze her hand. 

“I promise I will stop beating myself up when R can actually understand my apology. Until then, yes, I’m going to beat myself up. Just a little.”

Jehan sighed and they went back to sitting quietly. But they broke the silence again, just barely, “Why do you think R tried to kill himself?”

Combeferre and Joly had seemed largely unconcerned, at least for the present, once they were satisfied Grantaire’s wounds were most likely from one attempt, a very long time ago, and assumed he was no longer a danger to himself. But she and Jehan had been studiously avoiding this topic, which wasn’t exactly hard, given how many other things kept cropping up on a regular basis anyway. It was more than enough to keep them busy.

“You think it’s related to our latest and greatest issue?” she asked, trying to look out the window as nonchalantly as she could manage. Anyone but Jehan would’ve been fooled, she was sure.

“Éponine, we saw how desperate Enjolras could be, even when he was told R was safe. I’m worried how that’s going to manifest in R if their roles are reversed, or he thinks they will be.”

“You think he might try again?” A particularly fat pigeon flapped laboriously by. 

“I don’t know.” Jehan sounded small and lost. “I want to say no, since he apparently never tried again, despite the continued abuse, but I’m worried he might at least hurt himself.”

“With what? It’s not like there’s any sharp objects just lying around. Besides, I’m sure Enjolras keeps an eye on him.” The pigeon flapped back the way it had come. Maybe it had been cursed to spend its life flying back and forth in front of the same depressing hospital window. Funny how interesting the little shits could be when Jehan was busy boring holes in the back of her head with their eyes.

“Éponine, you know I only want the best for them.” Éponine knew that. Just like she knew she felt the same way. Which was precisely why, when she had seen the terrific scarring all over R’s arms that she had investigated, independently of course, no need to plant any ideas in Combeferre and Joly’s heads, what would happen if R hurt himself, or tried to hurt himself, or threatened to hurt himself, while in the hospital. If Enjolras had just about lost his goddamned mind because Grantaire was sedated in a separate room, Éponine could only imagine the shitstorm that would inevitably ensue should Grantaire be assigned someone to stay within arm’s reach at all times, including trips to the bathroom. She was pretty sure there was a non-zero chance the world would just end.

“I think we’re all right after last night’s, uh, discussion,” she finally said, turning to meet Jehan’s gaze. Éponine knew Jehan would take her side, but they might also be tempted to do something Stupid with a capital S if they knew for sure Grantaire had been scratching up and pinching his own arms. Something Stupid like implying to Cosette they needed to seriously discuss Grantaire’s intense depression n-o-w now, which would get back to Joly, which could very easily lead to either a physical examination or a questioning that R didn’t have the mental defenses to get through unscathed. 

Jehan eventually nodded, and Éponine decided to actually look at what Courfeyrac had sent out. It couldn’t be anything too earth-shattering since Jehan hadn’t brought it up. She skimmed through them. Just like he had guessed, Courfeyrac couldn’t do much but drink awful coffee and watch the police investigation from across the street with Valjean. Despite the thorough, professional in the wrong sort of profession, way the house had been cleaned, the police were still taking approximately a million years to process it. Courfeyrac’s words, not hers. And then, unless this charming man had deigned to leave his driver’s license around somewhere, Éponine guessed there would be another million years of lab time to figure out approximately fuck all. Her words this time.

She settled in for several invigorating and then several infuriating levels of Candy Crush to pass the time, but at least this was one frustration she could simply exit from in one click when she needed a break. 

An hour after she woke up, there was an extended period of that discomfiting not-silence, before the curtain twitched as Enjolras observed them. She waited until he was done to glance over at Jehan, who miraculously looked much less tired and far more relaxed. Éponine knew it wasn’t an act, since Jehan really was gentle and calm and kind around anyone that needed their love, but she was still allowed to be impressed at how well they hid all their negative feelings away when it was time.

There was more not-silence, and then Enjolras drew the curtain back. Éponine had no idea what he and R had talked about before they went to sleep last night, but it must have at least ended alright, since they were sitting closer together than she had seen since R’s drugged but honest delirium in the ICU. They were also clearly holding hands underneath their mountain of blankets, which was a good sign of normalcy returning. Or whatever the fuck it could be called.

Enjolras watched them from under his eyelashes, mostly looking at Jehan, but occasionally glancing over at Éponine. Grantaire, who normally just stared at his lap, shot Éponine the occasional furtive look. She could only guess they were worried she had told Jehan, or someone else, about what Grantaire had done. They were probably also worried about a thousand other things Éponine couldn’t even fathom. She was secretly a little bit glad they looked to Jehan for guidance and not her.

“Good morning,” Jehan said pleasantly, which elicited the usual non-response. “After breakfast, I am going to go talk to Cosette about suspending your therapy for now.” Enjolras’s face tightened for a moment while his gaze flicked over to Grantaire, but then it was quickly smoothed away. “While we wait for your food, would you like to take a shower?”

Éponine had to wonder how much the two of them had been allowed to clean up, since Grantaire’s eyes flashed up in surprise and Enjolras managed to look at Jehan for almost a full second. Éponine also had to wonder what sort of fucked up games their captor had played as she watched Enjolras carefully consider this offer. 

When no answer was forthcoming, Jehan tried, “You can keep the same clothes if you want, or you can pick out something clean from the box and we’ll wash the old ones and bring them back.” This appeared to be the hang-up, because Enjolras finally nodded and then herded Grantaire into the bathroom, picking up the cardboard box on the way. Thank fuck for Jehan’s mind-reading skills.

Also thank fuck whoever hurt them wasn’t here. Considering it seemed like Enjolras thought the price of a shower might be having to go around naked afterwards, Éponine extra wanted to bash the fucker’s head against a brick wall. 

She got up to order the food, since, unlike brain smashing, that was something productive and helpful she could actually do, ordering more toast in place of eggs since Jehan had relayed the earlier struggles with using cutlery. Joly would probably give her a lecture on how eggs were a perfect protein, and Cosette might give her another lecture on how practicing everyday skills was important. Éponine might tell her again that getting them to not starve to death was more important. She knew Cosette meant well, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fuck right off.

Some time after the shower stopped for a second time, the bathroom door cracked open, revealing one of Enjolras’s blue eyes and a strand of hair made dark by the water. When he had satisfied himself there was no trap waiting, he led Grantaire back out, looking more subdued than earlier. Éponine could only guess R’s self-harm must have come up again while his arms were exposed, though Enjolras didn’t look angry or judgmental or even upset. 

In fact, he had dressed R back up in another of his hoodies, the ends of which R had balled up in his fists, as well as a pair of his pajama pants, cuffed several times at the ankles to accommodate their height difference. And while Enjolras was wearing another pair of his own pants, he had put on another clean sweater of R’s. It would have been sickening if it were anyone else.

Enjolras helped R clamber back into bed and spent what would also have been a sickening amount of time tucking him in. Grantaire hardly looked up during all the fussing, but Enjolras remained unfazed. Éponine started to wonder how often a scenario like this had played out, though probably with more pain and less comfort, but she stopped herself before she could get too angry again.

Enjolras had a ball of their dirty clothes in his lap, and he looked tentatively over at Jehan once R was settled to his satisfaction. “Why don’t you just put that on the bedside table?” Jehan said when they noticed, and some of the tension bled out of Enjolras has he did so. He did a slight double-take when he saw the two pill bottles that had been delivered while he slept. 

“One of those is for if you have a panic attack, just like Combeferre explained,” Jehan said. “The other is for if you feel nauseous again, but you need to let us know if it happens for a reason other than your anxiety, in case something else is going on.” Enjolras was still studying the medicine when the food arrived. Combeferre and Joly didn’t think he had been drugged, at least not regularly enough to cause problems, but he was clearly suspicious about what they gave him.

Éponine cleared away the pile of clothes after she put down their trays of food. Musichetta and Bossuet could take them when they visited later and add them to the piles they were already taking over the laundromat with, trying to get the musty storage smell out of everything before Grantaire and Enjolras were ready to leave the hospital. 

That reminded her, she and Jehan really need to take a break some time and discuss how to re-arrange their apartment for the homecoming. Cosette would be so proud. But that also meant she needed to deal with the problem of Enjolras potentially being discharged first. If R was so afraid that someone might say something to Enjolras in therapy that could potentially make him want to leave, so afraid that his only relief was hurting himself, Éponine didn’t like to imagine how badly Enjolras straight-up being told he could leave if he wanted would fuck R up. 

She couldn’t be angry with Combeferre for being truthful, especially when Enjolras had blind-sided him with his question, but he needed to figure out R would probably never recover if that fear was constantly eating him up inside, as stupidly melodramatic as that sounded. And maybe Enjolras was ready to leave, or would be soon, since he could eat and sleep and clean himself without issue, but he honestly also looked like utter shit. 

The gauntness in his face was slowly but steadily replaced by swelling from water weight after starting to eat more, but it didn’t look all that much better, just disturbing in a different way. And, for all that Enjolras could stay awake when he needed to, whenever given some actual peace and fucking quiet, he was out cold pretty quickly.

Not that Éponine thought Enjolras would leave if given the choice, as she watched him gently encourage R to finish the toast he was dejectedly picking at, but it would take something really significant to make R believe that. But speak of the devil, here was Combeferre tapping at the door and poking his head in. R froze completely, and Enjolras tried to block him with his own body, shooting a suspicious look at Éponine before forcing his face to go blank. 

Before some sort of international incident could occur, Jehan whirled up. “Hi, Ferre. Enjolras, we’re going to go talk to Cosette now, just like I promised, alright?” Before Enjolras could respond or not-respond, Jehan had pushed a very nonplussed Combeferre, though he did his best to hide it, out into the hall and shut the door.

Grantaire choked and coughed on the next bite of toast he tried, hands shaking, and Éponine watched Enjolras soothe him. Why couldn’t R see how much Enjolras obviously loved him? 

This was probably dangerous territory, and she probably shouldn’t do this without Jehan around to keep her on an even keel or Courfeyrac or Marius to take notes, but fuck it. “Enjolras, can I ask you a question?” Enjolras not-watched her for a long time, but it was only when she finally, stupidly, thought to add, “I’m not going to say anything about R, no matter what. You’re perfectly welcome to say no,” that he slowly shrugged, which seemed to be his catch-all for I don’t know, I don’t care, and I’ll do whatever you want so that I get left alone. Hopefully it wasn’t that last one.

“Why didn’t your captor come after you when you escaped?” See, she could use neutral language when she wanted to. 

Enjolras went slightly pale and very, very still. Grantaire seemed to have come out of whatever mire he was wallowing in and was watching Enjolras with genuine curiosity. “He was sick,” Enjolras finally said, but that obviously wasn’t the whole answer, not with the way his eyes flashed up briefly, full of fear. 

“Enjolras, you could tell me you shot the motherfucker in the head and then cut him into tiny pieces to get away and I still wouldn’t be angry.” She didn’t feel like using the approved language anymore. So sue her.

“I gave him cold medicine.” Enjolras shuddered. “I put vodka in it.” He spoke so quietly Éponine needed a minute to process the words, and then she couldn’t help but laugh. For all that Cosette got wrong, she was right when she said their personalities were still largely intact. And no wonder Enjolras was so suspicious of the medicine he was given. 

The open admiration in R’s eyes was still clear when she got herself under control, though she looked away politely when Enjolras turned to kiss his forehead. Watching that would be just as intrusive as if she had followed them into the shower. 

“Did he really not think he’d get sick?” she asked. She was no doctor, but she knew it was still pretty fucking hard to keep something like the flu from spreading to everyone in a confined space. 

Enjolras considered this question just as thoughtfully as every other one. “I was in another room. I assume he thought that was enough of a precaution, but I might have been contagious before I showed any symptoms.” Éponine noticed R was now the one who had gone very still. 

“I guess that makes sense,” she said in agreement, not taking her eyes off Grantaire. “I’m sure he thought actually having a working immune system would be helpful.” Enjolras’s lips twitched a bit. When Grantaire continued to say nothing, she asked, “Do you have any ideas, R? You didn’t get sick until later, right?”

Grantaire turned white and then flushed pink. Even though Éponine could only see the back of Enjolras’s head now that he had turned, she knew he was looking at R so intensely, there was no way out now. If anyone except maybe Jehan had tried this, she would’ve bitten their heads off, but she liked to think she knew what she was doing. Or at least pretended to know.

“I didn’t make you drink all the soup I made,” he whispered, clearly addressing Enjolras and not Éponine. 

Enjolras shook his head, and based on how his shoulder moved, he was probably petting R’s hand. “I’m sorry, Grantaire. It’s all so fuzzy and jumbled. I remember you taking care of me, but I can’t really separate any of it out.” He reached out to fuss with R’s already perfectly-placed hood.

Grantaire swallowed and slowly built up his courage. “I had to make dinner because you were sick.” He kept talking even though Enjolras tried to cut him off. “I made him drink from the same mug you did.” Grantaire actually looked up now. “He wasn’t going to let me take care of you, and I was scared something would happen to you, and I just got so angry.” It was the most Grantaire had said in the presence of anyone else, other than to beg, since he had woken up. 

“Oh, Grantaire,” was all Enjolras said, but he didn’t need to say anything else as he hugged the man he loved tightly to his chest. Éponine crept up and then quickly backed away once she had closed the curtain. Her work here was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to research how long it takes to knit hats, and I found some good knitters say a couple hours for adult-sized ones, so I assume Jehan could make baby-sized ones much faster. 
> 
> I also couldn't find anything too helpful about when to discharge someone from the hospital. (I know it depends, Dr. Google, I was just hoping for some guidelines!)


	27. Chapter Twenty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally did a chapter from Jehan's perspective! I tried my best to capture their voice, though I'm not sure how well I succeeded. I'm like the least poetic person ever.
> 
> Also, I did my best with the legal stuff, but Google JD is much harder to use than Dr. Google! 
> 
> (Also also, I am watching Shoujo Cosette and just met Combeferre before I wrote this, and their pronunciation of his name is now burned into my brain because that's all I could hear every time I typed it. I might just call him Ferre forever so I don't have to hear that B in my head.)

“Are we really going to see Cosette?” Combeferre asked as he followed Jehan down the hall. They stopped and turned to face him.

“Of course we are. I promised I would never lie to either of them.” Not that Jehan didn’t see the value in white lies, especially if someone needed a little emotional boost, but they couldn’t even begin to imagine what Enjolras and Grantaire would do if they found out something they had been told was less than the total truth. Well, they supposed R would spiral into an even deeper depression, but they couldn’t guess what Enjolras would do.

“Sorry,” Combeferre apologized as he adjusted his glasses. “I meant, are we visiting Cosette to give them some space or are we consulting Dr. Pontmercy about a medical issue?”

“Both, I should think.” Now that the pair had walked a fair distance from the room, they let Combeferre take the lead. They had learned the layout of the hospital, of course, but they had a habit of choosing routes that led by at least one of the gardens kept for patients. They thought it was soothing, even in the winter, after the sterile environment of the rest of the building, though Combeferre would probably consider it inefficient, even if he would be too polite to comment. Yet they wanted to be cognizant of the fact Combeferre was trying to balance all his duties as a resident with seeing Enjolras as much as possible and didn’t have as much time to stroll.

“Can I ask what has upset them now?” If anyone else had said it like that, it would’ve sounded rude or exasperated, but Combeferre only sounded thoughtful, like he wanted to update his mental list of things that would distress his friends. 

Jehan waited until they were alone in an elevator to answer, even though that took a few minutes after Combeferre initially posed the question. “Enjolras woke me and Éponine up in the middle of the night completely distraught about having to do any kind of therapy.” It was hard for Jehan to think about their friends so upset at the mere thought of having to talk about what happened. “I promised him I would tell Cosette and neither of them would have to.”

“Neither of them? So Grantaire no longer wants any either?”

Jehan hummed. “It’s so hard to tell, Ferre. I think deep down he remembers it helped before, but for whatever reason he’s scared to start up again. I can’t quite guess if it’s just because talking about very deep-rooted self-esteem issues was somehow easier for him than talking about being raped and who knows what else for four years would be, or if it’s something more specific than that.” They sighed this time. It seemed like a double-edged sword to know what R’s prior issues were; they could be relevant and have been compounded in captivity, or they could exist separately from whatever caused problems in the present. It was human nature to look for patterns and relationships, and the last thing Jehan wanted to do was see one that wasn’t actually there. 

“I also think the whole…incident was probably started by something Grantaire was feeling anyway. I can hardly picture Enjolras getting the nerve to wake us up in the middle of the night, to tell us something about himself. I think whenever he acts out-of-character, it likely is related to Grantaire.” Jehan couldn’t bring themselves to say “bad;” they didn’t like to label anyone as bad anyway, but Enjolras especially just seem frightened and confused and lost. 

Combeferre nodded. “I’m inclined to agree with you. I know I haven’t been able to see them recently, but that would line up with I have observed.”

Jehan stopped walking and checked that the hallway they had entered was empty. “Combeferre, you shouldn’t blame yourself for anything you did. You had to race here in the middle of the night because your best friend, who you thought was dead, was being flown in by helicopter. No one could be prepared for that.” They stopped to give Ferre a hug, because his slight frown had gotten deeper. “I know Éponine can be harsh, but I don’t think even she envies the position you and Joly are in.”

Combeferre’s frown smoothed out a little and then returned. “But she has a point. No one was explaining anything clearly. I thought – I thought he would understand I was making the best choices for him as his doctor, because we’re friends. I knew rationally he would be changed, but I should’ve known he’d be quite…different.” 

“Combeferre, if you don’t stop feeling bad for trying your best in an extremely difficult situation, I’m going to call Courf right now and tell him you need cheering up.”

“I think Cosette already did that. He got a grocery delivery service to bring me a case of oatmeal with those little dinosaur eggs in it. In the middle of the night.” Combeferre was now smiling, just a little bit, and Jehan laughed.

“Aren’t those the ones you banned from your apartment because Courf would make the whole box at once and only eat the eggs?”

Combeferre looked indignant as he resettled his glasses. “I did no such thing. I merely made a rule that when making any, said maker needed to eat all of it. I guess it was no fun after that.”

“How many times did he call you a dictator?”

“I chose to stop counting after five.” Then Combeferre actually laughed a little bit, and Jehan smiled. It was horrible enough that Grantaire and Enjolras were perpetually miserable; they didn’t want to see all their other friends the same way. 

The pair began walking again. Luckily, Cosette was in her office, finishing a late breakfast with Marius. Jehan wasn’t sure if Enjolras understood Cosette was still seeing her regular patients as well and might not always be available; they didn’t know what Enjolras would think of a substantial delay, though perhaps his perception of time was distorted and it wouldn’t register at all. It was so hard to know what was in his mind. 

Cosette waved at the two of them to choose seats while she finished chewing. Marius started to wave as well, but quickly aborted when he realized he was in danger of flinging food off his fork and across the room. He rocked his head back and forth a few times as an alternative greeting. Cosette wiped her mouth with a napkin and gave Combeferre a guarded look over the top, and while Marius continued contentedly eating, Jehan inclined their head. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, Ferre, why were you coming to visit earlier? We weren’t expecting it.” Both Combeferre and Cosette’s faces froze momentarily. Combeferre assumed a more neutral expression but then his shoulders slumped.

“I was asked to evaluate Enjolras to see if he’s ready to be discharged.”

Marius had a piece of fruit salad halfway to his mouth but forgot it in mid-air. “Isn’t he still really, um, maybe not sick sick, but at least unwell? I mean, I’m not a doctor, but…” Marius trailed off. 

Combeferre sighed. “Yes, but there are actually lots of risks to remaining in the hospital. Other than finding a way to deal with his continued anxiety, all Enjolras really needs at this point is rest, fluids, and food. And we would be able to provide all of those at home for him.”

“But didn’t you say Enjolras could just stay as a visitor?” Marius asked. “Won’t everything pretty much stay the same?”

This time Jehan sighed, and from the look in Cosette’s eyes, she understood the problem. “I know you know that,” she said, smiling at Marius, “but even though we’ve told Enjolras that, he might have misunderstood, and Grantaire probably didn’t register it at all. While it’s certainly nice Enjolras can stay, I’m concerned one or both of them will interpret it as some sort of punishment, at least emotionally. It could also easily trigger Enjolras’s separation anxiety if he thinks he’ll be forced to leave, and it could upset Grantaire if he feels the person he’s codependent with would be allowed to leave whenever he wants.” She shook her head. “Combeferre, is there any way you could at least delay for a day or two so I can work with them on this?”

Combeferre frowned slightly again and turned towards Jehan. “That’s the real reason we’re here.” Jehan smoothed the hem of Bahorel’s sweater, snug on him but oversized on them, across their lap. “Enjolras and Grantaire have said they are no longer willing to participate in any therapy.”

Cosette blinked in surprise a few times, before nodding thoughtfully and picking up a pencil to roll idly around in her hands. “It’s not uncommon for individuals to feel shame or guilt when seeking therapy. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they each have plenty of internalized shame and guilt about a whole variety of things now. I would suggest we all, or whoever is with them, let Enjolras and Grantaire know they can talk to us about what happened as one friend to another. Maybe when they are comfortable with that, we can help them see therapy isn’t radically different.”

“Cosette, you’re always saying seeing a professional is much different than talking to a friend.” Marius was the one frowning now, more deeply than anyone else had been.

“Well, think of it like this,” she explained, “you and Courf are defense lawyers, but you’re still doing plenty to help the two of them, even though it’s not really your field. It’s sort of like that.”

Marius considered that and finally nodded, though he frowned again. “Uh, is there some sort of…time frame on how long it will take until they’re ready to talk?” His hands grew twitchy on his lap.

“Why do you ask?” Cosette neatly avoided the real question, which Jehan knew probably had no real answer.

Marius’s hands grew even jumpier until he finally stilled them. “Well, alright, the police haven’t gotten nearly this far yet, at all, but Courf and I were talking about it a little bit. It’s very possible that this will never go to trial, either there’ll be a plea bargain or something will, uh, happen to the defendant beforehand, or the police will never – anyway, Enjolras and Grantaire won’t have to do very much if there’s not a trial. But if there is, we both thought it would be best if they were willing to testify, which would mean being questioned and cross-examined.”

Jehan felt a little sick. They wanted to wrap Grantaire and Enjolras up in all the blankets they could find, knit a few more for good measure, and then keep them somewhere safe and warm for as long as they needed, forever if necessary. “But they’re the victims! Surely they can’t be compelled to testify?”

Marius nodded. “That’s true. But I’m sure the police will pressure them, whether we like it or not. We discussed trying to have the prosecution just read a victim impact statement instead, but,” Marius shifted in his seat a few times, “well, no matter how unbiased of a jury they try to select, there’s probably going to be some internalized homophobia, even it’s just subconscious.” His gaze wandered over to Combeferre before returning to Cosette’s desk. “Courf thought it would be best to have the two of them there to show that, you know, they’re real people, and they didn’t want what happened to them.”

Combeferre nodded gravely. Marius turned bright red now. “And we’re also concerned that the defense might subpoena at least one person about Grantaire’s, you know, his uh, um-”

“His previous feelings for Enjolras?” Cosette rescued Marius.

“Mmm, yeah, that. So it would be better if they could both just be questioned directly on that topic and if the jury could see them interact, uh, however they want.”

“Do you have any idea how long we have?” Jehan asked. It would be wonderful if Grantaire and Enjolras were back to their old selves, or properly acquainted with their new selves, soon, but Jehan was going to need to guide them, at least for now. 

Marius shrugged. “No, I’m sorry. From when an arrest is made, it could potentially be months. The justice system isn’t exactly known for its speed. But this case is high-profile enough it might get pushed through faster.”

“Marius,” Combeferre asked quietly, “is there any chance their captor will be able to post bail?”

He frowned and then eventually shook his head. “I can’t say for sure. I hope not. Probably not.”

Combeferre cleaned his glasses and then replaced them. “Very well. I will make a recommendation that Enjolras needs to stay for at least a few more days while we continue to assess his condition and also argue that this is a good place for him to stay, for his own safety.”

“Thank you, Combeferre.” Cosette smiled. “Let me know if you want me to contribute anything. Even if it’s just my name – I’ll happily make an exception in this case.”

Marius frowned the deepest of his frowns. “People know you’re good at what you do! It’s not just because of Jean.” Cosette smiled a little more and reached for Marius’s hand to keep him from protesting further.

“Jehan, do you need anything?” Cosette turned her gaze on them. 

“No, nothing new at least. I’m just so nervous that in trying to show I care, I’m going to make it worse. I just wish I understood what they needed.” They shook their head. “Is there anything I can do for them until they’re ready for therapy? I’m reluctant to ask them to talk to me, in case they think they have no choice.”

“I don’t think either of them will hold anything against you once they’re better,” said Combeferre. 

“I have to agree with Combeferre, Jehan, but I know how hard this must be for you.” Marius nodded along with Cosette, not even seeming to notice. “Exercise might be good for them. Combeferre, do you think they are up for short walks at this point?”

Combeferre considered the question. “Very short, but I agree it would be good. I would just caution you to watch Enjolras, in case he tries to hide his discomfort again. If you make sure they have plenty of layers on, you could take them to one of the gardens this afternoon. I think it’s supposed to be nice today.”

Marius pressed his lips together. “Would one of the security guards be able to go with? And maybe wrap their faces up in scarves or something so they’re not easily recognizable?” 

Jehan nodded. They would let Enjolras bundle both of them up, and hopefully that would make them feel just as good as some time outside. It was so difficult to watch Enjolras lavish attention on Grantaire and see poor R refuse to believe what it meant. Jehan didn’t want to bring it up either; Enjolras had immediately stopped comforting R on the way to their current room when he had seen that Jehan had seen, even though Jehan had tried to show he was pleased and not angry. They had no idea what Enjolras might say if pressed, or how Grantaire would react. It was better just to give the two of them opportunities to show their affection.

“Speaking of recognizing people,” Combeferre said, “where did you find those pictures, Marius?”

He turned bright red again. “Well, maybe it’s stupid, but I thought about who else would need pictures like that, so I went to Jean’s spare apartment and pretended to be a new reporter that was looking for my big break.” He was still red but laughed a little. “The pretending to be awkward wasn’t hard at all. I asked why none of the stories had pictures of Enjolras or Grantaire and said I thought if I could get some, I would stand out. I made sure to mangle their names when I said them.” Jehan was suitably impressed, and Combeferre looked the same way. 

“So then this reporter went on and on about how all of our, well ‘their’ social media was private, so they couldn’t even find any leads on who to talk to. Which I obviously pretended I didn’t know. But then I asked how he even knew whose profiles to look for, and I guess he had found a list of everyone from the Amis from when we were in undergrad.” Jehan felt a little pang of sadness that so many people had written Marius off when he was younger, when he could be so clever and creative, if only he didn’t feel like his occasional awkwardness was going to perpetually hold him back.

“Go on,” Cosette encouraged, looking proud, and why shouldn’t she be, when her husband had done all this?

“Alright, um, so I called the lady who does all our IT stuff for the office. I don’t think she was particularly pleased about being woken up in the middle of the night, but, well, she seemed excited when I said it was for a specific case, not just the printer breaking again or something? I guess that page used to have all our pictures with our names, but the police asked the school to change it after…after…well, the important thing is it wasn’t done quite right? I didn’t really understand it all, but I guess someone good with computers could find a cached version or something?”

Jehan smoothed their borrowed sweater out again. “I’m sure no one else remembers, but we had those pictures taken at orientation right when we arrived, so that’s why I looked – the way I did.” They knew when Enjolras and Grantaire misgendered them that it was a misunderstanding and done from a place of fear, but thinking about those memories stirred up a plethora of old memories of dysphoria. They were blunted, but still there. 

“Oh, Jehan,” Marius said sadly. “Why didn’t get it retaken after you, uh, looked like yourself?”

They shrugged. “It’s not like anyone ever really saw it. I just used my license for ID if I needed it, so it seemed like a waste of money. I just treated myself to an extra plant when I had some to spare.”

Marius blushed a bit again. “Sorry, sorry, I should know what that’s like, I mean I do know what it’s like. Just-”

Jehan smiled. “Marius, it’s fine. Please don’t trouble yourself about it.”

“So, their captor…hacked in to get those pictures of us?” Combeferre asked before Marius could wind himself up even more. 

“No. Or, well, our IT person said it ‘wasn’t even hacking,’ but I don’t know what you call it. Enjolras and Grantaire were on it too, obviously, and she said if someone with some computer skills knew their names, they could probably find that page.”

“That was really excellent, Marius,” Jehan said, so proud of their friend for solving the mystery. Marius, of course, turned red again, but before Jehan could compliment him further, their phone began buzzing. 

“Éponine?” they asked. Combeferre, Cosette, and Marius all leaned forward as he answered.

“Hi, Jehan.” Éponine was using the, if not quite cheerful, level and friendly tone she used frequently with Grantaire and Enjolras. They also recognized from the few times they had gone to walk home with her from the hair salon and she had had to deal with a difficult customer. 

“What’s wrong?” The background sounded too open for her to be in the hospital room, but Jehan didn’t know if anyone was close enough to hear them. They didn’t want to accidently frighten Enjolras or Grantaire.

“Enjolras has, for some reason, decided to sit out in the hall. He’s totally ignoring me when I try to talk to him. I assume he’s waiting for you.”

“What about R?” Jehan wanted to say it was bizarre for Enjolras to suddenly leave R’s side like this, but they shook the judgmental thought out of their head. It might seem bizarre on the surface, but Enjolras did not act without a purpose.

“He’s in bed, somewhere on the moping/pining spectrum. I don’t think he thinks Enjolras is leaving, but he’s not happy about whatever this is either.”

“Alright. I’ll come back right away. Will you try to tell Enjolras? I don’t want to startle him.”

“Well, horses and water and drinking and all that, but I’ll try.”

Jehan hung up. Combeferre had been close enough to make out most of what Éponine said. “Do you have any ideas?”

Jehan shook their head. “No. That’s what makes this so difficult. Every time I think I understand, there’s another layer. I better go now.” 

The other three all looked concerned, but Combeferre remained behind to discuss his report a little more with Cosette, while Marius accompanied Jehan part of the way back, until he needed to split off to go to the cafeteria where he had been working during the days. He shuffled his laptop bag between his hands. “You know, Jehan, I think it’s really great how you’re handling this. I would be a wreck.”

Jehan smiled and squeezed Marius’s arm. “I know you could do it, Marius. You’re already doing so much. And I don’t want to hear you say Courf is doing most of the work.” Marius closed his mouth and then waved as he left Jehan. 

The rest of the walk felt very long and very short.

Éponine was waiting for him at the end of the hall. The security guard there looked like he was trying to make friendly overtures, but she didn’t even notice or was ignoring him. Jehan followed her gaze down to where Enjolras was sitting on the floor across from the door to his room, which had been left open. R wouldn’t be able to see him, but he would be able to hear what happened. Enjolras was wrapped in several of the thicker blankets. Even at this distance, he clearly was tense, though his hands were hidden, and Jehan wasn’t sure if he was worrying at his fingers or blankets. 

“Godspeed,” Éponine said, only half ironically, as Jehan walked down the hall. Their first instinct was to kneel, so that they would be more or less eye level with Enjolras, but they quickly thought better of it. They settled for sitting next to him, out of reach, with plenty of space if Enjolras decided to run back to R.

Enjolras flinched at that, but he didn’t try to stifle it like usual. It didn’t seem like overacting, but he was no longer hiding his reactions. Enjolras would certainly choose to do things that scared him, but they always served some larger goal. Jehan needed to find out what that was.

“Enjolras, sweetie, can you tell me why you’re sitting out here and not in bed?” Jehan did their best to sound as neutral as possible. Cosette had admitted once she had modeled her own tone during therapy sessions on the way Jehan spoke, so they hoped Enjolras could understand it as a question with no implications attached. 

He shifted slightly, and under all the layers, Jehan could see he was trembling. “I’m being bad.” The sentence ended in a strange open tone, not quite a question, where Jehan could only guess the missing honorific would go, if they still allowed Enjolras and Grantaire to use them. 

This was truly the hardest part. As much as Enjolras felt he was bound to a certain set of rules and any action could be classified as good or bad, he clearly had certain expectations for the way Jehan could or should react in turn. While they could maybe begin to extrapolate what Enjolras was thinking about himself, based on what they already knew about their friend, they had no idea what the men’s captor had done. Combeferre and Joly had shared that Enjolras had been beaten, viciously and repeatedly and often, and Enjolras was terrified of being taken from Grantaire, but they could only imagine there was more to it than that. 

“It’s not bad if you want to sit somewhere else, Enjolras. But wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed with R, though? I think he would like that too.” Jehan hated speaking on R’s behalf, but they had seen enough to know he was still head-over-heels for Enjolras, whether he was willing to admit it or not. 

Enjolras nodded once, jerkily, but stayed where he was. “Why don’t we get you back in bed?”

At that, Enjolras leapt up and took a few steps back. “No! I’m being bad!” He sounded slightly hysterical. 

Jehan knew it was important to acknowledge Enjolras’s feelings, but they just couldn’t bring themselves to say he was bad. It might tire Enjolras to get out of bed, but he was still an adult of sound mind, and he could make his own choices. But when Jehan slowly reached for Enjolras, hoping to lead him back if words weren’t going to work, he only stumbled further back and repeated himself, louder and more hysterical.

“Enjolras, honey, I promise it’s alright. You’re not being bad, and I’m not going to punish you.” The fight went out of Enjolras. He sank to his knees, though he stumbled next to Jehan when they took his arm and led him past the bewildered security guard and back to the bed, where Grantaire was sitting, looking utterly miserable. Enjolras kept his head turned away as much as possible, but Jehan thought he was holding back tears.

Were Enjolras and Grantaire so used to punishment they felt compelled to seek it out, even if seemed to legitimately terrify both of them? Every time Jehan thought they had gotten closer to understanding, they were reminded just how far away they really were. But their friends looked so desperately sad, they couldn’t just leave them like this.

They brought them more water, which the two of them did slowly sip, even if they did so glumly, like it took a substantial effort. Jehan waited until they had mostly finished. “Now, why don’t both of you try to get some rest, and then later we can bundle you up and go for a little walk in the garden in the sun.”

Enjolras frowned at this, and even exchanged a quick glance with a baffled Grantaire, before both of them caught themselves and put back their normal blank expressions. Jehan shut the curtain for them when neither of them made a move to do so, and then they went to find Éponine pacing back and forth out in the hall. “What the fuck, Jehan,” she said, pulling her hair roughly back from her forehead. “What the fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was going to be more E/R, but then this chapter got away from me. :( I promise R!angst next chapter!


	28. Chapter Twenty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised R!angst, with a little bit of Feelings and some fluff.

Grantaire wanted to cry as Enjolras cradled him close, and he didn’t even know why. It was like all his emotions were jumbled into a giant knotted ball and if he tried to pull one thread, the whole thing would unravel at once and suffocate him. Maybe it was just that there was so much missing time from before they escaped and so much haziness from their time in the hospital, but the anger at Enjolras being forced to suffer more than usual still burned bright hot in Grantaire’s chest when he thought about it. But it had been so, so stupid. If Master had realized he hadn’t just been unlucky enough to catch whatever Enjolras had, he certainly would’ve exacted some sort of terrible punishment on Grantaire, but that didn’t mean Enjolras would’ve been spared. He was the one who was actually sick, and Master almost certainly would have found some fitting punishment for him as well. As creative as he could be, Master often saw no need to deviate from what worked. He would only have had to take Enjolras away for a day or two when he was well enough to tolerate it, and both of them would’ve been wrecks. It was much safer to have kept it a secret, so Enjolras wouldn’t reveal what had been done, whether on accident or by force.

What was even more confusing was that Grantaire’s actions had actually helped Enjolras later. Grantaire had no idea what to make of that. If Enjolras had directed him to do so, Grantaire would’ve gladly taken the risk of spreading the germs around, but the thought that his own idea had led to their escape was so bizarre it was hard to convince himself it wasn’t just a fever dream or a white lie on Enjolras’s part. And even stranger, though getting away from Master himself was strange, too strange to be considered when alone, Enjolras was still around, and he was still continuing to clutch Grantaire to him. (Maybe this was another fever dream, even though Grantaire knew his temperature was normal.) Part of him wanted it to never end, and part of him also wanted to die. Or at least hurt himself again.

Why Enjolras had let Grantaire stay after seeing his arms was a mystery. (Well, not that Enjolras had the power to send him away, but he could have easily withdrawn, at the very least.) Here was Enjolras, who had been hurt countless times, whether because he fucked up (or because Grantaire had fucked up) or just because Master was in the mood (or because Grantaire had fucked up) or Enjolras needed to be reminded of his place (or because Grantaire had fucked up), and now his bed partner was hurting himself, by choice and on purpose. The shame at that thought was so overwhelming Grantaire would’ve been pushing his sleeves up again, except his arms were currently pinned to Enjolras’s chest. Focusing on that made the shame build even higher, and Enjolras would probably want to try to talk, and it felt like an eternity would pass before Enjolras would go back to sleep and give Grantaire another chance.

Because who was he hurting, really? (Besides himself, of course, but that didn’t count.) His nails were so brittle that they were about as short as could be, and breaking his skin actually took more effort than he had expected, which just made the rush of relief even sweeter. But no one else had showed interest in hurting Grantaire, so what did it matter if he did it himself? Except Éponine had seen and made an explicit choice not to tell Jehan, which meant it would upset Jehan, and Jehan owned them now, so Grantaire needed to stop. If they found out, their occasional privacy privilege would be revoked, and how awful would that be for Enjolras? Maybe it was for the best Enjolras was effectively restraining Grantaire. (And look, how easily had he justified Enjolras’s touch? This was why Grantaire needed to make sure it never happened, because once it started, he didn’t have the strength to end it.)

But there was no stopping Enjolras either, since he just went right on clutching Grantaire. Finally, when Grantaire thought he was about to spontaneously combust or evaporate or just poof into nothingness, Enjolras pulled back slightly. Grantaire, who had been alternately staring at the fabric of his own sweater (Why did Enjolras insist on wearing his clothes?) or the back of his own eyelids, quickly looked away. It didn’t seem as effective as normal, since Enjolras lightly cupped his cheek and whispered, “Grantaire, that was so brave.” Now Grantaire was going to die, he really, really, really was going to. “You would’ve been hurt so terribly if Master had known.” Grantaire continued studying where their feet lay under the covers. Enjolras abruptly removed his hand, and somehow Grantaire wanted to die even more. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first.”

Grantaire looked up and found Enjolras a mixture of contrite and worried. “It’s fine. I’m not going to shatter into a million pieces just because you touched my face.” 

Enjolras frowned and seemed deeply troubled for some reason. “Grantaire, that doesn’t mean I should touch you however I want without asking first.” 

Grantaire wanted to point out that the only other people who touched him, himself included, did so to hurt him, so Enjolras hardly needed to worry. Except it did hurt whenever Enjolras deigned to touch him, just in a different way. Enjolras would be disgusted if he knew, so Grantaire just shrugged. 

Enjolras settled for taking both of Grantaire’s hands in one of his own and slowly pushing Grantaire’s hood back a few inches to twist the curls with the other. Letting him do that was Grantaire’s first mistake. His second was not looking away, so that Enjolras couldn’t have said, “Grantaire, may I ask you something?” And Enjolras hadn’t even asked a real, proper question yet, and Grantaire still felt the urge to writhe until his arms were free and he could begin shredding the remaining unmarked skin. 

His third mistake was giving a short, jerky nod in response. He wished he were constitutionally capable of not fucking everything up. But Enjolras had seen his mangled arms, had certainly seen Grantaire’s body in far more disgusting states than that, and yet he was praising Grantaire and holding him close and gently petting him. Grantaire was exhausted, in a different way than what his sickness had done to him. It took so much energy to deny Enjolras what he wanted, and he had none left.

No one was more surprised at his assent than Enjolras, who needed more time to actually formulate his question, so certain he must have been that Grantaire would once again refuse to speak. The creases on Enjolras’s face smoothed out after a minute. “Why did you think I was going to leave you?”

The hardest part of answering was going to be being concise. Because Grantaire was a piece of garbage? Because Grantaire wanted nothing more than to follow Enjolas around like an excruciatingly annoying and obnoxious shadow until they died? Because Grantaire was filthy down to his bones but still dreamed constantly of Enjolras touching him, just like he was doing now, somehow oblivious to how awful it was? He settled for, “What good am I?”

Enjolras’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “Grantaire, what does that mean? Do you have any idea how much you’ve done for me? I honestly don’t think I would’ve survived without you.”

“But you did.” Grantaire bit hard on the inside of his cheek to keep to his teeth from chattering, which was stupid, because he wasn’t even cold, for once. He looked at their feet again and tried to imagine he were anywhere else, but Enjolras still had his fingers in his hair, though they had stilled, and Grantaire needed to memorize every second, since these little moments were going to have to last the rest of his life. 

“You think this is over, Grantaire? And that I won’t need you any longer?” This was why Grantaire tried all sorts of tricks to avoid talking about any of this, because Enjolras could see right through him with just the smallest clue. He wondered if he would get his own bottle of pills if he threw up now. That would be a more dramatic way of avoiding a conversation than he normally chose, but needs must. “Even if Jehan never hurts me or lets anyone else hurt me, I still need you. How could you think that?” Enjolras sounded upset, because that’s just what Grantaire did – he upset people.

“But Éponine will make sure you don’t.” 

“Éponine?” Enjolras’s mouth worked like when he was barely refraining from talking back to Master. “I don’t know if you remember, but you said something similar in the ICU. Are you frightened because you don’t know what she might do?”

Grantaire felt the skin on his cheek break and begin to seep tangy blood onto his tongue. The callus was going to take forever to form again, if it ever got another chance at the rate Grantaire was going. “I know what she’s going to do.” Grantaire was hyper-aware of the small sounds she was making on the couch, on the other side of the curtain.

“What is she going to do?” Enjolras prompted, when Grantaire focused on willing himself to disappear instead of elaborating. 

Grantaire started chewing on his other cheek. He had forgotten what tender, unmarked flesh could feel like. The sting slowly took the edge off. “She’s going to make you see.”

“Make me see what?” Enjolras sounded on the verge of frustration. Grantaire could hardly blame him. He was a terribly frustrating person to deal with. But instead of snapping at him (or just snapping in general), Enjolras resumed stroking Grantaire’s hair. Even though this wasn’t the first time Enjolras had done this over the last few days, it had been so long since anyone could get to Grantaire’s scalp to touch it, that it was practically intoxicating. It made Grantaire so languid he wasn’t prepared when Enjolras spoke again.

“Did Master tell you if anyone else found us that they would convince me to leave you?” As much as Grantaire loved how smart Enjolras was, he really, really hated it right now. He should adopt a pet rock and fall desperately in love with that instead. 

Blood flowed from Grantaire’s other cheek. He forced himself to nod. As much as Master loved to remind them what would happen if anyone they had been close with found them, he took secret delight in tormenting Grantaire with everything that might happen if someone else came and took them away. If Enjolras no longer was hurt, he would no longer need anyone to tend to him or beg on his behalf, which were the only real things Grantaire had to offer him. All that would be left were his ruined body and abhorrent personality, which Enjolras would distance himself from as soon as he could. Éponine might be telling Enjolras to stay now, but how long would it be before she realized how awful Grantaire was and switched to encouraging Enjolras to book it out of there?

“You really don’t believe I’m going to stay, do you?” Enjolras was very quiet and very sad. But what a stupid question. Did he think Grantaire would really believe, if given his choice, that Enjolras would stick around long enough to even say goodbye? Enjolras looked like he wanted to say something else, but he finally shook his head and resumed playing with Grantaire’s curls.

Grantaire tried not to lament the fact that Enjolras eventually stopped. He should just be grateful he was getting any attention at all. Enjolras pushed himself up, and Grantaire wished he had never opened his mouth. There was a reason he made it a rule to ignore all attempts to talk. “Grantaire,” Enjolras said gravely, “I wish you knew I would stay with you always if I could, if I was given my own choice, but if I can’t not believe what Master told me, it would be unfair to expect otherwise from you.” Grantaire wanted to protest. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he still knew he didn’t want it to.

Enjolras hesitated, and then shed all but a few blankets. He reached for the curtain. His gaze was ferociously intent. “If you need to take care of me to feel secure, that’s alright.” By the time Grantaire had processed the implications of this, Enjolras was already out of bed and shuffling out into the hallway. Éponine had started when Enjolras first stood, and now she was looking between Grantaire and out the door, as if this would explain everything. Grantaire looked down at his own feet, already aching to see the empty space where Enjolras’s had been. He yanked his hood back up. 

He heard Éponine get up and go into the hallway. Grantaire listened to her cajole and argue in turn, though Enjolras remained silent through it all. Grantaire didn’t know if he wanted Jehan to come back now and end this or for them never to come back so that Éponine had time to stop Enjolras when Grantaire could not. But Enjolras didn’t come back, and neither did Éponine. Grantaire should use this chance to get up and say he believed whatever Enjolras said, if only to get him back in bed, but he had misplaced his spine. He tried to convince himself staying in the room was the best choice. Enjolras was going to be hurt, and it would do neither of them good if Grantaire was as well and unable to soothe him afterwards. 

It was still so hard for Grantaire to measure time, but it seemed like Jehan came fairly quickly. Grantaire could hear Jehan’s soft, soothing tone, but not their actual words. They didn’t sound angry or upset, even though they had probably been dragged away from something more interesting and important than dealing with Enjolras’s open defiance. Enjolras, on the other hand, grew louder and louder, practically begging Jehan to punish him. Grantaire felt sick. Enjolras should be back in bed, warm and comfortable, not trying to get himself hurt. But Grantaire felt even sicker when he let himself acknowledge that very deep down, he almost wanted Jehan to do it, so that he could have an excuse to touch Enjolras and tend to him. 

But despite Enjolras’s very best efforts, it wasn’t that long before Jehan led him back to bed, completely unmarked and unharmed. Grantaire was overwhelmed with guilt that he could’ve wished for any other outcome. Enjolras was squinting hard, like he was struggling to hold back tears, and Grantaire wished there was something he could do to help with that. The thought of trying to hold or caress Enjolras was a tempting one, but luckily Jehan brought them each water before Grantaire could do something stupid. 

Grantaire sipped as slowly as he dared, wanting to keep his hands busy and off of Enjolras, because he was not hurt and absolutely did not need Grantaire to touch him. Jehan stayed close, watching, not satisfied until they both had almost finished. “Now, why don’t both of you try to get some rest, and then later we can bundle you up and go for a little walk in the garden in the sun.” 

Grantaire thought he must have misheard or misunderstood or just invented the whole thing in his own miserable head, but then Enjolras looked at him, frowning, and he knew he hadn’t. Why would Jehan not punish Enjolras when he was being incredibly disobedient, out of bed and ignoring both them and Éponine and asking to be hurt, but now punish him when he had gone back and had his water and done exactly what Jehan had asked? Grantaire needed to beg, to ask for Jehan to be merciful, but before he could recover from the shock and disorientation, Jehan had closed their curtain and left.

Enjolras looked quite calm, but Grantaire saw he had bitten his lip hard enough to bleed, and Grantaire couldn’t help it (well, yes, he could, but he had no self-control), but he reached up and lightly touched Enjolras’s chin until he let go. Enjolras started to shake slightly, and Grantaire used that as a chance to pull the blankets up and tuck them under Enjolras’s shoulders. Enjolras shook them quickly loose, and before Grantaire could feel the sting of rejection, Enjolras pulled him against his chest. Master almost never left either of them waiting for a punishment, and Grantaire had no idea what to say or do to help Enjolras stay calm. And apparently the answer was nothing, since Enjolras freed one arm to fumble for his panic attack medication. Grantaire almost wanted to ask for one as well. It was terrifying enough to have to beg Master to bring Enjolras back inside, and he knew by now exactly what to say, and even then it wouldn’t work until Master had decided Enjolras had suffered enough to learn his lesson. 

But Grantaire had no idea what Jehan would want to hear, or even how long they might want Enjolras to hurt. Enjolras had been bad for no reason, so it was going to be a very long time. And Jehan had also mentioned Enjolras being allowed to dress warmly, which made as little sense as anything did these days. Did he want to leave Enjolras outside for such a long time he would only survive if he were bundled up? How warmly would they allow Grantaire to dress him? Or would they demand Enjolras slowly strip, so that he got colder and colder and colder? If that were the case, no amount of pathetic pleading from Grantaire would end the punishment early. 

Enjolras was starting to shake more and more, and it hadn’t even been that long. If the punishment was going to happen, maybe the only thing Grantaire could do was make it happen as soon as possible, so that Enjolras could get through it and then actually rest. He wriggled until Enjolras got the message and released him. He seemed on the verge of apologizing, even though Grantaire should be the one to say sorry for getting his filth all over Enjolras, but stopped when Grantaire started to climb out of bed. Enjolras grabbed his hand, and Grantaire couldn’t think about it, or he’d stay there forever. “Grantaire, please, don’t.”

Grantaire was at least smart this time and didn’t look back at Enjolras or say anything. He was still worn from the effort of showering, and by the time he got to the door, he wanted to sink down to the floor and sleep. Enjolras urgently and repeatedly whispering his name didn’t help either. If he stopped, Enjolras would probably come fetch him, and they would be no better off than before. Grantaire bit his raw cheek to make himself focus.

The security guard mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like “for fuck’s sake” as Grantaire entered the hallway, but he was just relieved to see Éponine and Jehan standing at the other end. His barely thought out plan would’ve been completely ruined if they were gone. The guard didn’t stop him as he slowly made his way down the hall, leaning on the wall for support, since there was no way he could’ve avoided Jehan. They and Éponine had their heads bowed in deep conversation and didn’t notice Grantaire until he had sunk to his knees beside them. 

“Oh, R, what’s wrong?” Jehan squatted down next to him. Grantaire knew he should answer immediately, but he turned to watch Éponine hurry down the hall to where Enjolras had followed him out of the room and was watching. Grantaire couldn’t hear what Éponine said, but though she seemed exasperated, she folded her arms and turned her attention back to Jehan after Enjolras knelt as well, though he continued to watch from under his eyelashes. 

“Please, can we please just go now? Please?” Grantaire begged. It was so presumptuous for him to assume he would be brought along, but if he wasn’t, how would he make Jehan let Enjolras come back inside? He couldn’t bear the thought of being left behind with no way to end Enjolras’s suffering. 

“What do you mean, Grantaire?” Jehan was so soft and gentle, and it made Grantaire feel off-balance. He was used to rage or feigned indifference or sadistic enjoyment. What was he supposed to do in the face of what seemed like genuine care and concern? Grantaire would just have to try what he knew and hope he would be a quick learner, not that he was particularly good at that.

“Please, I know Enjolras was bad on purpose, and I know he has to be punished so he learns, but please don’t make him wait. Please.” 

“Oh, R, did Enjolras not tell you? I promised I wasn’t going to punish him.” Grantaire couldn’t help but shudder a bit. This was the one thing he was actually good at and good for, and he was failing as Enjolras watched. Was Jehan enjoying lying? Or did they mean to send Enjolras outside for no other reason than to be cruel?

“Please, he can be good.” That was only a partial lie. Enjolras certainly could behave when the spirit moved him, which was not as often as Grantaire wished, for Enjolras’s own sake. “He doesn’t need a reminder or a lesson. I’ll make sure he stays in bed from now on.” Grantaire knew he was turning bright red, could hear Master’s suggestive comments in his head about just how he would try to keep Enjolras there, but that shame would be more than acceptable if it kept Enjolras warm and safe.

Jehan said nothing for so long that Grantaire was tempted to start begging again, but the fear of making everything worse was enough to stay his tongue. “Here, why don’t Éponine and I help you and Enjolras back to bed and then we can talk?” Jehan offered a hand and helped Grantaire shakily rise. When he turned, he saw Éponine had done the same for Enjolras, who was still watching them intently. Jehan urged Grantaire to walk back, and he even managed to do so without assistance, though he had to admit he was glad for more than one reason when he was close enough for Enjolras to take his arm in support. That little bit of joy faded as Jehan and Éponine herded them back to bed, knowing he had done his best, which was probably the equivalent of most people’s worst, and that Jehan would proceed to do exactly as they wanted now.

Enjolras sat on the edge of the bed, and Grantaire knelt next to him. Enjolras had stopped shaking, but he said nothing about Grantaire’s choice of position, though he held his hand firmly. 

“Does one of you feel up to explaining what you thought I was going to do?” Jehan sounded just as gentle as before, but Éponine had rested a hand lightly on their back in support. Was Jehan nervous to hurt Enjolras for the first time? 

Grantaire’s mind was a jumbled mess of things he could say to keep begging, but Enjolras answered first. “I was going to be sent outside because I was bad.” Enjolras kept his gaze fixated on his lap and did look very sorry indeed. When Jehan didn’t respond immediately, he added, “I promise I won’t fight it. Grantaire will take care of everything afterwards.” Enjolras squeezed his hand a little. 

Éponine muttered something unintelligible under her breath, and Jehan looked on the verge of tears for a moment, before they got themselves back under control. Why were they sad about punishing Enjolras? He had been bad, and he had done it on purpose. 

“You think I’m going to punish you for getting out of bed by making you stay outside until it’s uncomfortable?” Grantaire would hardly describe what Master had done to Enjolras as uncomfortable, but Enjolras nodded anyway. 

“Is that what this was really all about?” Éponine asked sharply. “Did you want Jehan to hurt you so that Grantaire had an excuse to take care of you?” Grantaire suddenly felt very hot and weak. For all the countless times Master had used his feelings for Enjolras against him, he was careful not to do it front of Enjolras himself. Once again, Grantaire wanted to die, especially when Enjolras nodded again, even more so when tears start to trickle down his face, sudden and unbidden. 

“Oh, R,” said Jehan and Éponine simultaneously, Éponine’s voice significantly softer now. He didn’t understand. Were they going to leave him behind while they hurt Enjolras? Were they going to leave him behind forever? But nothing happened except for one of those silent conversations Jehan and Éponine had, before Jehan stood up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, alright? I promise nothing bad is going to happen. Éponine will be right here if you need anything.”

Grantaire’s knees began to ache, despite the soft bed underneath them and Enjolras’s shoulder bearing some of his weight, his whole body hurting and sore after all his earlier movement. Éponine stayed on the couch, though she stopped watching them after a short while, as they both shifted slightly under her intense gaze. Grantaire didn’t know how long it was until Jehan returned, bearing two coffee cups. Why did they and Éponine need coffee for whatever happened next?

But to his surprise, and Enjolras’s, based on the slight flinch he made when Jehan approached, they handed him and Enjolras a cup each. Grantaire would’ve been happy just to hold it, the contents seeping warmth into his hands. Jehan looked at Éponine one more time, who nodded, before speaking. “I know this is all very frightening and confusing for both of you, and neither of you did anything wrong, and neither of you are going to be punished.” This just frightened and confused Grantaire even more. “In fact, Grantaire was so brave, I thought you deserved a treat.”

Grantaire looked down at his cup. He had begged Jehan to save Enjolras, and not only had it worked after all, they got something nice as well? He felt a little guilty that both he and Enjolras were given a drink, but he knew Enjolras would’ve insisted on splitting it if he’d been the only recipient, so this way had the net result of more nice things for Enjolras. (And look, there was his excellent mental gymnastics at work again.) Jehan must have mistaken their hesitation, because they added, “I asked Combeferre, and he said it’s perfectly fine, as long as you stop when you’re full. I won’t be upset if you don’t drink it all. Those were the smallest cups the cart had.”

Grantaire took a quick sip before Enjolras could and found it was nothing harmful – it was just hot cocoa. But it wasn’t just hot cocoa, it was warm and sweet and rich and good, like the orange juice they got, but even better. Even Grantaire’s fantasies couldn’t have conjured up sitting quietly, pressed against Enjolras’s side, and drinking something so nice. All because he had gotten up and begged. 

He knew he should move or something, but halfway through, he felt too tired to do more than set his cup down and curl up. Enjolras managed to drink more, but then he quickly followed suit, letting Grantaire cover him in blankets with clumsy fingers, before slowly and gently tugging him close enough to rest his head on Enjolras’s shoulder, pushing part of the pillow down when Grantaire kept shifting his head against the bone in discomfort. Grantaire decided he could feel guilty later.


	29. Chapter Twenty-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. I'm sorry for disappearing on everyone - I forgot how busy I get when summer starts! It's probably going to be more like three chapters every two weeks instead of four for awhile. 
> 
> Some more R!angst and Feelings, but I promise it sets up for more Plot next!

Grantaire lay as still as he could, though his breathing was fast and shallow (as if he had done something recently other than just lazing around uselessly in bed.) As bad as the nightmare had been, at least he was good at having them, since he had stayed still and quiet enough not to disturb Enjolras. That was probably unfair praise since Enjolras slept soundly, once he did fall asleep, but the idea of him waking up and wanting to talk to Grantaire about his dreams (and even if he didn’t directly ask, Enjolras so pointedly avoided asking questions at times Grantaire sometimes thought asking would be preferable) was so abhorrent Grantaire allowed himself the small victory. 

It was bad enough he had said enough earlier for Enjolras to risk himself for Grantaire, and it was absolutely terrible and awful and disgusting that Grantaire had talked about his dreams while they were in the ICU. To be fair, he wasn’t totally sure he had said anything aloud, but he felt hot and sick any time he got too close to remembering flinging himself all over Enjolras. Flinging himself all over Enjolras just like he had been doing now, while sleeping no less. Grantaire wasn’t an expert, but though he was fairly certain the hot cocoa hadn’t been drugged or spiked or anything like that (and that would be a needlessly complicated maneuver, considering just a few days ago he had been purposely made high out of his fucking mind,) his head still ached though his thoughts were clear enough. He wished they weren’t.

He didn’t dare move his pillow back off Enjolras’s shoulder, since the other man’s head had tilted onto it, and at least one of them should get some rest. It wasn’t like Grantaire contributed to anything (he still had no idea what Jehan’s end game here was, but Grantaire was unlikely to help Enjolras no matter what it was), so it was much better to let Enjolras prepare, undisturbed, for the next morning. And how quickly Grantaire had gotten used to the soft treatment – his head was already resting on the soft bed, he shouldn’t even expect a pillow, let alone think of one as his and think about how to get said pillow back.

He needed to stop those thoughts, or he knew the nightmares would come back. He never begrudged Enjolras his talent for sleeping (yet another thing that had passed Grantaire by,) but it wasn’t exactly fun spending every night awake and alone, except for the demons in his head. Not that those demons went away with sleep, that just freed them to run wild and do their own thing, without even a tiny piece of Grantaire’s subconscious to control them. 

And the whole thing was stupid anyway. He was not held by Master in bed, while Enjolras suffered and worried and panicked and froze and starved somewhere else. It was Enjolras next to him, as perfectly safe and warm and comfortable as Grantaire could hope for, holding Grantaire so loosely he had been able to immediately pull away without reaction. But now the memories were gnawing away at him, and Grantaire knew they would only get worse and worse and worse. Grantaire had never thought he had much privacy, since he was almost always with Master or Enjolras (or wishing he were with Enjolras,) but now he appreciated how much he really had had. Master spent much of his time not looking at Grantaire (because he was smart) and even when Grantaire was allowed to hover around the edges of Enjolras, the other man was usually so exhausted and busy that he had very little energy to truly pay attention to Grantaire. (It was a shameful thought, but at least when Enjolras was made to work again, he would be less able to pick at Grantaire until he unraveled. It was exhausting to constantly guard himself like this.)

But at least Enjolras was ignoring him now because he was still sleeping deeply, so no guilt needed, and Grantaire had been quiet enough or unimportant enough that whoever was making the odd sound here and there out on the couch had done nothing about it. If Enjolras were awake, he would probably peek out to see who it was and then think of the best thing to do in response. If Grantaire tried that, it was entirely possible that person would want something from him and then Enjolras would wake up and be upset, and since Grantaire still didn’t know how to please anyone, it would be awful. (Well, he did understand what to do when Jehan order-asked them to eat or shower or answer questions, and that they were generally supposed to stay in bed otherwise, but that still left lots of time and lots of people unaccounted for. He could stay in bed and still be expected to do a whole range of things.) 

But maybe if he looked it wouldn’t matter. Maybe whoever it was, was perfectly aware of Grantaire’s suffering and didn’t feel compelled to do anything about it. That was better than the gloating or leers or smirks Master gave Grantaire when he got like this. It wasn’t usually his fault – Enjolras needed care (he wanted to say his care, but anyone’s would have done the same or probably much better) so often, but even if Master didn’t watch, he knew Grantaire went above and beyond the requirements of his duties. 

And that was why Grantaire shouldn’t have cuddled with Enjolras. Enjolras had wanted it, but all he had really needed was a body to keep him warm, one of the few things Grantaire’s body was still good for, not someone so broken they couldn’t distinguish between clear reality and hazy dreams. Grantaire was starting to feel a little queasy from all the blood he was swallowing as it flowed from his torn cheek. 

That was nothing compared to how sick he felt when he blinked back into focus and saw Enjolras had woken up. That was somehow worse than his nightmare. Grantaire didn’t think he had made enough noise to wake him - maybe his thoughts were just that fucking loud. He looked away quickly, not wanting to Enjolras to see anything in his face or try to ask what was wrong. What was he supposed to say? Everything was always wrong?

Maybe Enjolras knew or was still too tired to deal with Grantaire’s misery, because he (mercifully) just reached out and took Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire wanted to pull away before the taint in his mind and body and soul flowed between them and marred Enjolras, he really did, but this was so nice and had been their normal and he couldn’t. The nightmare did fade a little as they lay like that. Enjolras wasn’t Master, because Master liked touching Grantaire and Enjolras didn’t. Therefore it was a mystery why Enjolras leaned forward and (of his own volition) gently kissed him on the forehead.

After that, just as Grantaire had predicted, Enjolras rolled to his side and pulled a fraction of the curtain back. Grantaire didn’t want to see, but he lookedf anyway. He could see what must be Jehan’s feet, curled up (and what was Jehan going to eventually expect in retribution, since they were relegated to an uncomfortable hospital couch while he and Enjolras had a real bed, maybe Grantaire could convince them it was his fault because he had been the really sick one.) If Éponine was there, Grantaire couldn’t see her. Instead, Dr. Joly was sitting next to them, headphones plugged into his phone and watching something, the screen dimmed despite the room lights. He didn’t appear to notice Enjolras.

Enjolras rolled slowly back, softer and slower now that they knew it wasn’t just Jehan or Éponine. He shifted closer to Grantaire (so that they could talk as quietly as possible, that must be why.) “Why do you think he’s here?”

Grantaire had no idea (that was the whole problem, if he had known what Dr. Joly wanted, he could’ve resolved the situation while Enjolras slept and before he was any the wiser) and he didn’t know why Enjolras would bother asking for his opinion. At least Enjolras didn’t press when Grantaire said nothing. 

“Do you think Jehan knows he’s here?” Grantaire’s mind raced ahead a few more questions. (If Enjolras could guess what he was thinking, turnabout was fair play.)

“You think he made Dr. Combeferre leave earlier for a reason?” That was a frightening thought. Jehan had promised that they were theirs, that they wouldn’t be separated, but not everyone was in agreement with that. Master would’ve been enraged if someone had tried to go behind his back like this, but Jehan was not Master. (They were whatever yet-to-be determined gender neutral title, which was almost a relief, since Grantaire didn’t know how to think of Master as anything other than Master.) 

Grantaire brought himself to look at Enjolras. He was less pale and less wasted than Grantaire could ever remember. He was able to eat what he was given and rest when he was allowed and walk around when he wanted to. When he had had strep before, Grantaire had willingly traded his body for as long as possible, not fighting no matter what Master has wanted, but even then Enjolras had gotten less than a day of extra rest once his fever had broken before he was put back on a punishing routine of constant work. Grantaire didn’t know when Enjolras’s fever had broken this time, that information missing like so much else, but it had been days at this point. Perhaps the doctors were chafing at keeping a healthy person confined to bed – it must reflect poorly on their skills if someone with a simple fever was still a patient. 

Grantaire must have guessed Enjolras’s thoughts correctly (because that was one of the few things he was good at,) because Enjolras whispered, “I’ll shout if he tries to take me away.” 

That made Grantaire feel good, which meant it had Bad Idea written all over it. How ironic that he actually wished Éponine would come. She would eventually make Enjolras understand why he should leave or at least ignore Grantaire as much as possible, but she did at least seem to support Jehan for now. “It’s going to happen eventually,” Grantaire said, because it was.

Enjolras’s mouth twisted, before he settled on, “That doesn’t mean we should just let it. And that’s not what Jehan said they want.” Trust Enjolras to disagree with Grantaire but still find a compelling argument. 

“It’s always worse when you fight.” Grantaire admired Enjolras’s resistance, he really did, and his own suffering to stop that of Enjolras wasn’t even worth a passing thought, but it really was worse when Enjolras got like this. Even Grantaire could be selfless once in a while. 

Enjolras pressed his mouth into a thin line, before his lower lip was drawn in slightly so that he could gnaw on it. Maybe it was the insomnia or the remaining unreality of the nightmare or the pain and blood of his own cheek (or his typical poor decision-making skills) that made Grantaire reach forward and brush Enjolras’s face until he let go. Grantaire withdrew his hand immediately after that. He had to look away too, when he saw the soft and fond expression that had erased the rest of the tension in Enjolras’s face. 

He just kept from flinching when Enjolras reached towards him, fussing about until Grantaire had his pillow back and his blankets pulled up under his chin and his hood firmly knotted into place again. Grantaire’s heart began to race as Enjolras slipped his arms under the covers to stroke Grantaire’s over the sleeves of the hoodie. (At least this time there was no heart monitor to betray their intimacies to Dr. Joly, because there was no other word to describe what Enjolras doing.) 

“You don’t have to do this.” Grantaire wanted to say Enjolras shouldn’t do this, but while Enjolras had learned to (generally) do as he was told, he didn’t like it.

“I know,” Enjolras replied, sounding a bit confused but obviously undeterred from his task, continuing unabated. Even with the layer of fabric in between skin, Grantaire was lulled back into a half-sleep, all thoughts of his nightmare banished (for now.) “What will happen if Jehan does what they promised?” Enjolras finally asked, when Grantaire was sufficiently drowsy and relaxed enough to pretend he was conversing with the real Enjolras, while a fantasy Enjolras (unable to be affected by Grantaire’s inner filth) was the one actually touching him.

“We’ll be together,” Grantaire said, and then flinched at his extraordinarily poor choice of words. Before he could say anything to climb out of the hole he had just dug for himself, Enjolras spoke. 

“Is that what you want, Grantaire?” He came out of his sleepy daze long enough to chance a glance at Enjolras, who had the same soft look again. It was almost too much. Enjolras had always politely pretended not to notice how much Grantaire loved him, but Grantaire also had politely refrained from being forward or needy or stupid enough to let Enjolras dress him and curl up so close and touch him so gently. He was good enough at maintaining boundaries, but not after they were repeatedly crossed so much. He had just started to consider the logistics of crawling over Enjolras and fumbling for whatever panic attack stuff they had given him, when Enjolras added, very quietly, “I would like that too.”

Grantaire wondered if one of the symptoms of impending heart attack was an intense wish that the floor would collapse and let the victim quietly fall to their death before it could happen. It wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, all things to considered. “We’re always together,” Grantaire said far too quickly. 

Enjolras was much slower to respond. “Sometimes I would find you waiting in the kitchen.” 

Of course he did, because that was when Grantaire was still capable of reminding himself Enjolras could do without constantly being assaulted by his presence. “I didn’t want to bother you.” He added, “You never let me help, and you were always so busy.” That was stupid, now it just sounded like he was blaming Enjolras. 

“I liked when you came. It gave me something to look forward to.” Enjolras must have meant how Grantaire’s arrival signaled he would almost be done with chores and just had to make dinner before he would left alone, if he didn’t do anything to earn a punishment. Grantaire could tell he still he had more to say. “You never let me help you either.”

That was somehow fair and not fair at the same time. How could Enjolras say something like that? He had seen, both directly and the aftermath, he had undoubtedly heard, and he was really fucking smart and it didn’t take a genius to fill in the rest. “It wasn’t exactly something you could help with.” It was an effort to keep his voice from rising and alerting Dr. Joly that they were awake. Grantaire would rather have died than let Master touch Enjolras like that. It had been a long time since Master had asked if Grantaire wanted to switch places as anything other than a cruel joke, but even before that Grantaire had never considered it, even for a second. 

“No, I mean,” Enjolras was so tentative Grantaire half-expected him to start begging, because that was what he associated that tone with, “you never told me how to take care of you afterwards.” 

“You needed your rest,” except Enjolras liked that excuse so little he stopped stroking Grantaire’s arms. 

“I needed you to feel better.” Enjolras squeezed gently. 

“I was fine,” Grantaire lied. 

“Grantaire.” Enjolras squeezed again. “None of this is your fault, but this isn’t fine.” And this was exactly why Grantaire avoided all conversations that could get anywhere close to this topic. He closed his eyes and resolved to remain silent from now while he hated himself for not having the strength to withdraw from Enjolras’s touch. “What would make you happy, Grantaire?” And Grantaire knew Enjolras meant more than just cuddling or arm rubs. 

Grantaire’s new resolution lasted less than a minute. “You know,” he finally mumbled. It would be like ripping off a giant band-aid, but then Enjolras would know for sure what he already must mostly have guessed and then he would be distant and then gone and Grantaire could just wait to die. Maybe the pneumonia would come back and finish him off quickly. 

“Would you want to be together?” Enjolras was soft and tentative again. 

“When was the last time we got to make a choice like that?” Grantaire asked, since Enjolras seemed uninterested in the reasoning that Grantaire was awful and not someone to desire to be around, let alone with. 

Enjolras was quiet for a long time. “Even if everything else is out of our control, we can still choose what we mean to each other.” Grantaire couldn’t bear to look this time. In all his fantasies of being with Enjolras, he had skipped past the awkward discussion part, but now Enjolras wanted to talk about being what – his boyfriend? his partner? his lover? 

“I don’t want to have sex,” Grantaire blurted out. That was the only thing he was good at or good for, and since he knew Enjolras would never force him, that meant Enjolras would have no choice but to give up this whole stupid idea. Perfect.

Instead of giving up, Enjolras simply said, “That’s alright,” sincere like it really was alright and not very, very wrong. 

“I’m not letting you die of blue balls.” That wasn’t the best argument Grantaire could’ve thought of, if he’d been given time to consider the idea of Enjolras wanting to be with him. Unless Enjolras was leading some sort of secret life, he hadn’t had sex in years and had been just fine, and as nice as Jehan had been so far, Grantaire doubted he would allow Enjolras to go out and find a more suitable partner. 

Enjolras summed this up, “That sounds a little dramatic,” but he sounded fond again instead of exasperated. Grantaire was not doing a very good job. “Nothing has to change between us, Grantaire. I just thought you would like being…official.” He kissed Grantaire’s forehead again because he was a bastard. “I like you a lot.” Grantaire had to stop Enjolas from chewing his lip again, even as he wondered if Enjolras was affecting it on purpose this time, but Enjolras didn’t elaborate. 

The thought of being with Enjolras, even if it was something they pretended in secret like naughty children, was still terrifying. But maybe he could be stupid enough to let himself pretend. It would be infinitely more painful when Enjolras left, but that would be unbearable even if this conversation had never happened, so what did it matter if Grantaire played along until the inevitable happened? He had let himself imagine Enjolras coming back and saving him during his first attempt, before he lost consciousness. Was it really so terrible to want to create real memories to think about for whenever it was time for the second try? The only person who would guess his thoughts would be Enjolras, and since he would be gone, it wouldn’t matter. Grantaire slowly slid back against Enjolras’s shoulder. 

It was very nice until Dr. Joly’s cane touched the floor and Enjolras went stiff. “Enjolras, Grantaire, are you awake?” he asked softly. How loud had they been? If he had heard anything, would he tell Jehan or use it as blackmail?

Enjolras’s hand shook slightly as he opened the curtain partway. Dr. Joly was out of arm’s reach, though he could probably still hit either of them with his cane from that spot if he tried hard enough, but since Jehan was still improbably curled up on the couch, and a beating would likely wake them, it might be alright for now. 

“I know it can be hard to adjust to a normal sleep cycle after the ICU, so I thought I would sit with you since I’m already working nights.” Grantaire wasn’t sure what to make of this. Master never just hung around for its own sake, and he couldn’t imagine what Dr. Joly could want that was worth it. “Is there anything either of you need?” What Grantaire needed was for him to go away, but kept that thought to himself while Enjolras slowly shook his head. 

“Alright, that’s good.” Maybe he hadn’t come looking for an excuse to hurt them while Jehan slept after all. “I’m sure you’re both probably still tired, but I wanted to let you know Combeferre and I were talking, and we agreed it would be best for Enjolras to remain hospitalized until you’re both ready to leave. There’s not enough medical literature about long-term starvation, especially combined with other…factors, for us to feel comfortable enough discharging you sooner. It was a mistake when we said that before. I’m sorry we were so confusing.”

Grantaire was too stunned to react, and it was a long time before Enjolras managed a strained, “Thank you, sir,” which made Dr. Joly’s face twitch but nothing more. He would get to pretend to be with Enjolras or whatever it was they were doing for days and days more? If he wanted to be really selfish and drag it out, he could just pretend to get sicker to keep them both there? It sounded too good to be true, but Jehan had asked Dr. Combeferre before letting them have the hot cocoa, so they did seem to defer to the doctors on medical issues, for the most part. 

“I know it might be hard, but you should at least try to get some more sleep tonight,” Dr. Joly said when he seemed to realize neither Enjolras nor Grantaire were going to say anything else. He shut the curtain for them, and Enjolras took advantage of Grantaire’s confusion to pull him back in, just like they had started the evening. 

“I might have another nightmare,” Grantaire said, offering at least some token resistance because he couldn’t be totally pathetic. 

Enjolras frowned a little but just tightened his grip. “I know,” he said, “I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not entirely sure what Joly says is true, but his goal is just to make E/R feel safe, so I went with it. (And to be honest, everything I could find in my admittedly not super thorough research on starvation that wasn't WWII related was about eating disorders, which I would guess are a bit different that what I put E/R through?)


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small time jump at the beginning of this Éponine chapter. Also some slight re-imagining of canon events for modern times.

Éponine sat drowsily on the couch, wondering what had woken her, since the hospital room was just about as quiet and dim as it ever got. She fumbled for her phone and saw it was 3 AM, which meant Grantaire and Enjolras would probably be waking up any minute. She had spent enough nights with them now that she had adjusted to the same screwed-up schedule. Unless Joly or Cosette asked, in which case she was sleeping perfectly well and didn’t need anyone to relieve her. Though she had carefully prepared her argument that Jehan was practically trapped there all the time, and they deserved to actually sleep through the night.

She hauled herself upright. Normally she would get up right away to get out the crackers and juice so that there would be no anxiety for Grantaire and Enjolras. This time she gave herself a couple minutes to silently bitch and moan about how sore she was from rearranging her and Jehan’s apartment the last few days. She refused to call it the Homecoming Decoration Extravaganza, that name being just about the only thing Courfeyrac had contributed, and given how empty her pantry had suddenly been, his presence had been a net negative. Except that probably wasn’t true, since it had given him something to do besides harass Combeferre and Marius, after Valjean rather tactfully suggested hanging around the police station would not make the investigation go any faster.

Éponine cracked her neck and stood up just as she heard the first rustling from the enclosed bed. It stopped quickly, which meant it was probably Grantaire, now waiting quietly in case Enjolras slept through this time. She was on the verge of strategically, aka loudly, dropping a few things on the floor (she could take pictures of all the floral arrangements in the gift shop later to make it up to Jehan,) when she heard Enjolras stir as well, and it wasn’t long before he opened the curtain. 

She brought the two of them their food and then began to stare at her phone like it was the most fascinating thing on the planet. The group text had been silent the last few hours, though when she skimmed back through what she had mostly missed while moonlighting as a day laborer, she did find a link to a rather impressive, if random, list of memes Courfeyrac had apparently collected. She wondered if there were any memes about watching your friends work and not helping, but Éponine knew Courfeyrac was just chafing from all the inactivity. Maybe Joly should try again to get him to take up meditation, preferably the moving kind. He could practice by unpacking all of Enjolras’s clothes, most of which she suspected he had picked out and organized anyway. 

When it no longer sounded like Grantaire and Enjolras were eating in the fast but controlled way that had adopted as their appetites somewhat returned, Éponine gave herself permission to look up at them without being obvious. They were sitting quite close, like they now did as long as only she or Jehan were in the room. Enjolras was gently prodding Grantaire in the ribs to get him to finish the last of his crackers, though Grantaire looked sleepy rather than despondent. 

She was pleased to see Grantaire still looking, if not exactly more content, but less like if she rolled him out of bed, that he would just lay on the floor where he fell indefinitely. His progress so far had been shockingly steady, but she didn’t want to fool herself into thinking it would stay that way. There was eventually going to be a day when Grantaire retreated back into himself. On the other hand, Enjolras’s return to health was actually good and stable, confirmed by Combeferre, even if he still carefully controlled his words and facial expressions at all times. At least Jehan had finally gotten the two of them into a steady routine of eat, shower, sleep, eat, visit from Combeferre or Joly, and more sleep, and as long as there were no deviations, unannounced or otherwise, Enjolras no longer went into full-on combat mode at the drop of a hat. He was tense and wary during any interaction with anyone, but at least he actually stayed in bed, which meant Grantaire did too.

Éponine was just about to congratulate herself on another smooth night shift, when her phone buzzed. She almost fell off the couch when she saw it was Cosette, who was not only up at all hours texting, but was in fact out in the hallway and wanting to talk. She was honestly more scared by that than she would have been if whoever had held Grantaire and Enjolras captive walked through the door. She at least knew what she would do to him (for starters, anyway) – rip his balls off and then break his nose. She could not do the first to Cosette, and the second was highly inadvisable. 

She belatedly rearranged her face into something pleasantly neutral, but her two charges were busy silently making eyes at each other and hadn’t noticed. Éponine wanted to keep up her perfect record of telling the perfect truth, but she could only imagine informing Enjolras she was stepping out to talk to Cosette would send him into a blind panic, and that was the best case scenario. But how bad would a lie by omission be? Collectively the group was dealing with a ton of the nitty gritty shit so that Grantaire and Enjolras could just focus on getting better. It wasn’t totally accurate to lump Cosette into the category of Boring Shit, which basically encompassed everything Bahorel and Bossuet was slogging through, but Éponine could deal with her quietly all the same, no stress needed.

On the bed, Enjolras was in the process of tucking Grantaire back in. If he were to make any noise behind the absolute necessity, Éponine thought he would be clucking his tongue like a mother hen. “Remember you can wake Jehan or use the call button if you need anything, Enjolras.” Enjolras froze but then bobbed his head stiffly. Éponine tried to remind him every night, in case they woke before Jehan did but after she had left, but it was hard to tell if Enjolras’s fear was just his normal reaction to being addressed or if he also suspected something. Once the curtain had been shut, he could be plotting world domination and Éponine would have no way of knowing. 

Éponine looked over at Jehan’s sleeping form and debated texting them, but she didn’t feel in the mood for a lecture if things went sour, so she left her phone untouched. She quietly stepped into the hall. Cosette was making pleasant small talk with the security guard at the end, looking immaculate and put-together and alert because she might not even be a real person. Éponine should really get around to convincing Joly something was wrong with Cosette to get him to confirm her suspicions. 

As further evidence, Cosette handed Éponine a coffee cup, which would’ve required a special stop at this time of night. “This is a peace offering against my apparent hypocrisy,” Cosette said as she handed it over. It was pretty fucking hypocritical, but Éponine was not about to do whatever it was Cosette had in mind without being pretty fucking caffeinated. Cosette’s chatter faded into a background hum as Éponine converted herself into a semi-functional human being. 

“Why don’t we take a walk?” Éponine trudged after Cosette, who stopped in a quiet patch of hallway, not that most hallway patches weren’t quiet at this time of night. 

“Is there a particular reason we can’t just go to your office?” It was further away, and while Éponine couldn’t look at couches the same way after so many uncomfortable nights sleeping on them, Cosette’s office had some, and they were still superior to uncomfortable benches. 

“It’s currently occupied,” Cosette said firmly, like that would end the discussion.

“By who? It’s the middle of the fucking night.” Cosette kept staring straight ahead like if she couldn’t see Éponine, Éponine couldn’t see her. “Oh shit, is it the police? It is, isn’t it?” The shock of that was better at fully waking Éponine than a whole tray of coffees would’ve been. She hadn’t been afraid at all since Grantaire and Enjolras had suddenly shown up, even when Grantaire was admitted to the ICU. Joly and Combeferre were both excellent doctors, with a whole hospital of every specialist ever for support. And while Courfeyrac and Marius might be equally skilled defense lawyers, but it wasn’t the same, since they couldn’t actually force the police to do anything, so she had pushed that unsettling part of the whole situation from her mind. “Did they find him?” 

Cosette sighed and looked down at her hands. “No. Or at least, they’re very confident they didn’t. They think it’s the person Dad talked to when he pretended to want to buy the house.”

“Fuck.” Éponine drained the last of her coffee. “OK, so what do they need? Grantaire and Enjolras to try to identify him? They haven’t ever mentioned anyone else.”

“Yes, even if it’s just to rule him out as the actual suspect.”

“Couldn’t you have just texted me this? Why the secret meetings out in the hall? You know I’ll need to wake Jehan up and have them explain or Enjolras will probably do something stupid.”

“I was hoping we could discuss the best way to approach it,” Cosette agreed, “but I also wanted to talk you.”

“Yeah, I know I shouldn’t bitch about it, but it’s really shitty the two of them have to do this, and I don’t want anyone thinking they can just waltz in whenever asking questions. I suppose I can try to rein it in if you think that’s really necessary.”

“No, it’s not that. I thought you might recognize this person and have some leads for the police.”

Éponine was proud of herself for managing not to crush her cup in her hands. Bahorel would probably be disappointed. “Cosette, do you suppose there might just be a reason I cut off ties with my parents? I know it’s no fancy PhD, but for some of us going to cosmetology school was a major step up.”

“Éponine, I know,” though it seemed like Cosette didn’t really know, since she remained calm, instead of taking the bait to give Éponine the satisfaction of a screaming match. Or maybe that meant she did and was being the Better Person. “Whoever had them was smart, and this man is decidedly…not. Or so says Courfeyrac, who charmed that bit of information out of one of the officers.”

“Was he cute?”

“That hardly seems relevant, but yes. Courfeyrac says Combeferre will have to nobly suffer in the name of the cause,” Cosette said rather dryly.

“I’m sure Courf will make it up to him somehow,” and then suddenly they were both laughing. This might all have been some psychological trick to get Éponine to agree, but it did feel good after so many somber days. “Fine, I’ll look.” Éponine tried to sound put out but it honestly wasn’t her best effort. 

Cosette handed her a set of printed photos. “These are in chronological order, the most recent on top. This is apparently not his first brush with the law.”

Éponine studied the photos one by one. Her parents had run with so many criminals, who had been on constant parade through their apartment that most of them were a blur, and almost all of them wanted it that way. So did Éponine, when she decided to try pulling herself up by her own bootstraps, knowing she might just move a few inches when all was said and done. No one picture was immediately recognizable, but she fanned the set out, trying to look at the man aging in reverse and filling in the gaps. “He was trying to sell the house,” she said, more to herself more than Cosette. She shuffled the photos around until she was looking at an older one. 

She suddenly remembered sitting in her family’s old apartment, freezing from a cold shower because the landlord hadn’t bothered to fix the hot water even though it was winter and her parents couldn’t be bothered to run the heat any higher than what was needed to keep the pipes flowing, and listening to her father discuss buying and selling small properties with this man. She had been smart enough not to say anything, but she had spent days afterwards imagining her family buying a house and living somewhere nicer. It wasn’t until she was a few years older that she understood the point of transactions wasn’t actually about giving people places to live, it was about producing some clean cash at the end. 

It was so frustrating to have a memory so vivid and have the name be a blank. She shut her eyes and tried to imagine the scene again, trying to find some trigger in it that would unearth the rest of what she must have once known. No wonder Grantaire and Enjolras were always so stressed by questions. This fucking sucked. 

Cosette laid a hand on her shoulder, just like…Gueulemer had done that night on his way out when he saw her shivering. “I knew him as Gueulemer. That’s probably not his real name. He helped to launder money, or at least he used to. I think they picked him for that because he could be the fall guy and take the blame if something went wrong but would be too stupid to reveal much else.”

“That’s really good, Éponine. Do you know anyone else who was connected to him?”

“I probably could recognize a few, but as I got older I realized it was turning into more big stuff. It wasn’t just pickpocketing or buying probably stolen goods with definitely stolen money to sell again and then walk away clean. It was like real hard time in federal prison shit, and I didn’t want to know.” She sighed. “I feel sort of bad now that a bunch of what I’m sure are nice people had some bad shit happen to them that I probably could’ve stopped, but as fucked up as my life was, being a snitch would’ve been a surefire way to permanently fuck it up. Or end it.”

“I’m certainly not going to judge your coping mechanisms, Éponine.” There was an awkward silence while Éponine considered what Cosette’s own coping mechanisms might have been. She wasn’t going to judge either. Her parents sucked some major ass. “Do you think this might be gang related?” 

“I’m sure Gueulemer has some affiliations, but gangs don’t really go lone wolf like their captor. But yeah, there must be some tie between the two of them at least, and it’s not like they exchanged numbers at a cocktail party.” Éponine felt like the caffeine was starting to wear off, though it was probably more like her exhaustion continuing to wear on. “Shit, I’m sure the cops know all this. This was completely pointless.” It was good she hadn’t crushed her cup earlier, because now it made an excellent projectile to hurl against the wall. 

“Try again?” Cosette urged, not at all upset by Éponine’s anger. 

“It won’t do any fucking good,” but Éponine obediently closed her eyes and tried. Now that she remembered Gueulemer’s name, she found she could recall seeing him other times. Quite a few of those times involved multiple people, but the last thing she needed to do was send the cops on a wild goose chase after small-time criminals who wanted to be big time. That would just be a waste of time. She made no progress but her concentration was broken by Marius appearing.

“Um, I hope this doesn’t mean Enjolras kicked you out?” He was a bit red but took Cosette’s hand without even seeming to notice. Éponine had long ago accepted she and Marius were not meant to be, and she honestly thought they wouldn’t have made a well-matched couple as adults, but the memories of her earlier heartbreak hadn’t completely lost their sting.

“No, I just wanted to talk to Éponine first.”

“Oh, yeah, right, about the…the thing.”

“You can say it Marius. My parents aren’t a secret.” Éponine rolled her eyes even as she felt slightly warm. 

“I know. Sorry. Just, you don’t like to talk about it. Especially around me.” Éponine looked away, resentful Cosette and Marius were tag-teaming her like this. She should never have laughed. But Marius did have a point, since he had been the last in the group to realize how her parents made a living and why she was estranged from them, which wasn’t exactly a monumental accomplishment considering it was Marius, but Cosette must have filled him in on how much Éponine wanted him before, even she didn’t any more, and Éponine couldn’t have borne the idea of him knowing she was the daughter of people he would’ve run from on a dark street.

Except Marius had run from them once, one night when he had gotten hopelessly lost on the subway and Éponine had jumped on at what he thought was his stop, clutching her stomach and screaming her head off that she needed a hospital. Not one of her finer moments, but it was better than Marius walking up the stairs and into the trap waiting for just such a naïve, relatively wealthy person. Marius had been confused when Éponine’s symptoms mysteriously resolved themselves several stops and one train change later, though he accepted female troubles as an explanation. Hopefully Cosette had filled him in how they actually worked too.

Her embarrassment now was nothing compared to what she had felt then, just at the thought of her father attacking Marius, which had been so bad she could remember everything quite well when she actually let herself think about it. She could picture the group standing there in the dark, all basically indistinguishable except for Gueulemer because he dwarfed everyone else, both vertically and horizontally. “Patron-Minette.”

“What?” Cosette and Marius asked at the same time. Marius looked puzzled, like Éponine had said a foreign word that he was trying to find a translation for. 

“Patron-Minette. That’s what they called their gang.”

Marius lit up. “I’ll go tell them,” and he took off down the hall, everything else forgotten. 

“Sorry I ruined your conversation.” Éponine did feel a bit bad. Marius and Cosette were probably spending the most time together of all the romantic groups, and it was probably still way too little for their liking. 

“It’s alright. I just wanted to give you time to think.” They sat silently for a minute, before Éponine knew the needed to address the real elephant in the room. 

“So, talking to Grantaire and Enjolras.” This was not going to be pleasant. Their carefully constructed routine was going to be obliterated. If Jehan weren’t Jehan, they would be furious at all their work had been undone.

“Yes. I had the police print the photos so there’s no devices involved, but considering how upset looking at a picture of the front of the house made Enjolras, this will be extremely stressful if either of them do recognize Gueulemer. I have a few ideas of how to help them cope, but I’m concerned how they’ll react to my presence.”

“Yeah. They’re going to assume you’re there for therapy and that Jehan broke their promise. I don’t want to know how far that would set them back.” Éponine tilted her head against the wall. “They’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, and that would only confirm their fears.”

“I agree. I hope they’ll be more receptive to therapy in the future, but I don’t think I’m up to the task of changing Enjolras’s mind on this.” Cosette smiled slightly. “If I gave you some talking points, would you feel comfortable prepping them?”

“OK, I know I poke fun at the ivory tower in which you reside, but I’m sure you learned some actually helpful shit on the way up. I don’t know if I’m the right person to translate the psychobabble.”

“No, I think you’re an excellent candidate, Éponine. It sounds like they trust you almost as much as Jehan, so they’ll probably be receptive to listening to what you have to say, even if it’s frightening. Just think of me as a friend giving you some advice on how to deal with some other friend.”

“I make no promises.”

“You’ll do better than you think. Alright, the main problem is their bad memories are so bad they overwhelm the present. There’s a few techniques I can try with them later, but for now you can try reminding them they’re safe here and the past can’t hurt them. It sounds simple, but a third party issuing a reminder can be effective.”

“What, you want me to tell them to forget all the shitty stuff that happened to them? That’s not very reasonable. No.”

“No, no, they don’t have to forget, they just need to remember there’s some separation there.”

“Fine. But I have some conditions.” She didn’t give Cosette time to interrupt. “One: we are going to wait until they wake up. If they think we’re going to wake them up to ask questions, they’ll never sleep soundly again. Two: I’ll try what you said, I really will, but if either of them gets too upset I’m kicking the police out. Grantaire and Enjolras are the victims, which some of you seem to forget. And three: they get more hot cocoa afterwards. I’m not having them think we don’t realize this hard for them.”

“I have no issues with that.” Cosette stood up and offered Éponine a hand. “Do you want to talk to Jehan and let me know when the detective can come down?” Éponine nodded and they parted ways. When she got back to the hospital room, Éponine eased the door open, but she needn’t have bothered, since Jehan was awake and there was shuffling behind the curtain. Before she could even come all the way in, they got up and took her back outside. 

“I think Grantaire had a nightmare.” Fuck. Just what they needed. “I think Enjolras has sort of gotten him calmed down.”

“He shouldn’t have bothered.” Éponine summarized her conversation with Cosette, tweaking it just enough not to mention what had helped trigger her memory, and Jehan knew better than to ask. 

“It’s important, but I hate to make them do that now.” They looked at the closed door as if they could see through it. 

“I know. It sucks. But they’re probably going to pick up that we’re uncomfortable about something if we try to put it off. I’m sure Grantaire will assume you’re mad his nightmare woke you up or something equally as stupid.”

Jehan finally nodded. “They’re probably not hungry yet, but let me at least give them some water first.” Éponine followed them back in, hanging back so as not to crowd them as Jehan asked for permission to draw the curtain and gave them each a water bottle. Grantaire looked shaken and trembled slightly. Enjolras watched attentively and held Grantaire’s hand under the covers, only looking away to drink his own water.

Jehan let them finish before speaking. “I know you’re probably both very tired, but the police think they’ve found someone connected to your captor and want to ask you about him. Would you feel up to that? I promise you can rest as much as you want after.”

Grantaire shook a little more, and Enjolras’s face tightened. He still hadn’t realized Jehan’s questions were really yes or no questions and that they were waiting for a response. When Jehan had stared at the two of them for an uncomfortably long time, Enjolras finally looked up slightly and nodded. Éponine knew this continued dubious consent to all manner of things was wearing on Jehan. Their face fell slightly when they went to the door and had their back to the bed.

Éponine settled herself on the couch. “Jehan and I are going to be here the whole time. If it’s too much, I’ll gladly throw the police out on their asses.” She steadied herself with a deep breath. “I know this is pretty much the worst, but no one is going to hurt you. You’re perfectly safe here.” Grantaire gave no reaction, but Enjolras glanced her suspiciously before blanking his face again. Well, she had tried.

Jehan came back in with a detective Éponine didn’t recognize. Just how many people were working on the case? The detective introduced himself. “I’m from the Organized Crime Control Bureau. I just want you to look at some pictures for me and tell me if you recognize this person. It's fine if you can’t.”

Éponine intercepted the detective before he could do much more than stand back up, bringing an identical stack of photos to the one Cosette had given to her earlier over to the bed herself. Enjolras didn’t take them immediately, and she could tell it was because he had to focus to keep his hand from shaking when he did reach out. He and Grantaire dutifully looked through them, but Éponine didn’t need to be a detective to see they really didn’t recognize Gueulemer.

“That’s fine,” the detective said when Éponine brought him back his photos. “Maybe you’ve already been asked this, but was there anyone your captor interacted with, in person or even online? Any little thing could help.”

Grantaire went white, but Enjolras pretended not to notice, since Éponine knew he must have. Enjolras finally offered, “He must have seen people when he ran errands, and there were the men who came when the tree fell, sir. He had a key to next door, but I don’t know how much they spoke.” 

The detective wrote a few things down in a small notebook. “Grantaire, do you have anything else to add?”

Grantaire went even whiter. Enjolras’s eyes flicked quickly between him and the detective and Jehan. His voice shook just like his body. “He worked online, sir. I think that’s how he made his money, but I don’t know if he talked to anyone.” As slow as Grantaire had been to respond, it was still far faster than normal, and Enjolras looked the tiniest bit concerned. 

“You never heard him mention anyone specific?” the detective pressed. 

Grantaire quickly shook his head. Enjolras now looked slightly concerned. 

“R, it’s alright, no one is blaming you or judging you,” Jehan said softly. 

All of a sudden, a few tears slid down Grantaire’s cheeks, but before Éponine could making good on her promise, the detective stood on his own, and it made Grantaire and Enjolras flinch, even though he was probably just going to leave quietly. “He always said if I didn’t do what he wanted, he would get a camera and show me to his friends,” Grantaire said in a rush. The following silence stretched forever, Enjolras looking so openly stricken that he obviously hadn’t known or guessed this, and then Grantaire burst into tears. 

Now Éponine did hustle the detective out, even as he started to go on his own, and then she walked purposely to the nearest bathroom and was sick. Twice. She wondered how much it would cost to bribe the cops into letting her beat the fucker up when they caught him. Hopefully the premium on beating him straight to death wouldn’t be out of her price range.

She rinsed her mouth and washed off her face in the sink and then hurried back when she realized poor Jehan was probably trying to do damage control without any kind of a break. She found them weeping softly in the hall. The security guard outside the door looked concerned, and while he probably meant well, Éponine glared at him until he found a nice and interesting patch of wall to stare at instead “I thought they would appreciate some privacy,” Jehan said in a calmer voice than she had expected. 

“Sorry I ran out on you,” Éponine apologized lamely, but Jehan just waved it away. 

“I’m not upset with you.” Eventually they calmed back down. “I’m going to need to tell Grantaire we’ll never do that to him,” they said, sounding as sick as Éponine had just been. She was once again amazed Jehan had not simply cracked under the pressure, though not necessarily surprsied. She checked her phone.

“Come on.” She lifted Jehan up and pretended like it didn’t hurt her shoulder. “The coffee cart is open now. Let’s go buy you some stupid herbal tea and you can wax poetic about the fresh snow on the trees before we bring them hot cocoa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How many vowels can I put in one name?" -a Victor Hugo story


	31. Chapter Thirty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I will two chapters of plot in a row. But why do that when I can write about ace!Enjolras instead? 
> 
> (And I tried my best to make it clear in the text, but if I failed, I promise Grantaire is not actually aphobic, he just has a very bad case of The Sads.)

As keenly as Enjolras had felt his lack of control with Master, it was no comparison to how powerless he felt now. With Master, he had always known what he wanted to do, though he had slowly and painfully learned the price of disobedience until he no longer wanted to pay it. But now, staring at Grantaire, curled up tightly in the fetal position with his back to him, Enjolras learned the real meaning of helplessness. 

He thought he had learned a significant amount about Grantaire, had realized what had once annoyed him were really well-hidden strengths rather than weaknesses, had finally come to understand he loved Grantaire, but despite that development and growth, all Enjolras really knew was that Grantaire would not want to talk. He couldn’t see Grantaire’s face, but Enjolras knew his eyes were closed. 

No doubt Grantaire was upset with what he had decided to share. Enjolras tried to remind himself, every day, that just because Jehan was letting them eat and sleep as much as they wanted didn’t mean the pain wasn’t going to return as soon as they were discharged; but he also had to remind himself to be wary whenever he was asked questions. It was so easy to be lulled into a false sense of security, after so long without any. Grantaire was even more guarded than Enjolras, but all the gentle treatment must be wearing on him too. Even with Jehan or Éponine in the room, he let Enjolras hold him, whereas, with Master, Enjolras would have been very afraid to do anything more intimate than a quick kiss to the forehead when they were alone.

Enjolras wished Grantaire had shared Master’s threats with him, but there was no anger or irritation at only finding out now. With some distance, Enjolras knew Master had almost certainly been bluffing; he went to such great lengths to keep the two of them hidden, he would not have thrown all that effort away, even as a punishment. But he realized if Grantaire had told him when it happened, while Enjolras would have thought about ways to stop it, almost all his mental energy would’ve been spent worrying. Grantaire had been willing to do that alone. 

The only thing that really mattered at this point was soothing Grantaire. Even though he was lying completely still, Enjolras knew Grantaire must be tying himself into mental knots. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what life had been like for Grantaire, naked and available for violation at any time; none of it was Grantaire’s fault, but he had been drowning in shame, and Enjolras could only guess how much worse it would have been with an audience. The few times he had been forced to watch had left Grantaire a vacant shell for days afterwards – how much worse would it be if those watching were doing it for enjoyment? Just the thought of being beaten while friends egged Master on was enough to almost make Enjolras sick now, and that was nowhere what Grantaire’s experience would have been.

He did feel angry now, angry that the only way he had learned to comfort Grantaire was to eschew contact and conversation, when Grantaire probably wanted and needed both. They were still alone, but Enjolras had no idea how much time they might have. Dr. Combeferre or Dr. Joly came in the afternoons, after he and Grantaire woke up from their post-lunch nap, but Jehan might have gone to fetch one, or both, of them now. As much as Enjolras didn’t know what to do for Grantaire, he didn’t want either of them to try instead.

What if they didn’t understand Grantaire’s practically catatonic state was not out of the ordinary for him following a traumatic event? They might insist on a more thorough examination than they had adopted as part of their daily visits, and Enjolras didn’t know if Grantaire’s arms had fully healed yet; at some point it had become less awkward to look at Grantaire naked than to avoid it, but now he was extremely careful to avert his eyes when they showered. 

What if they thought Grantaire was acting out on purpose and punished him? Enjolras didn’t exactly think he was going to do a stellar job consoling Grantaire, but even nothing would be better than whatever the doctors might do. Everyone had adapted to Enjolras’s near-mutism without so much as commenting on it, even when they knew he was physically capable of speech, but that was no guarantee they would treat Grantaire the same way. Jehan had refused to punish Enjolras, so maybe if he begged them hard enough, they wouldn’t let anyone punish Grantaire. But he and Grantaire were still alone, and Enjolras needed to do something immediately. 

He stared at Grantaire, who was still motionless, and Enjolas finally settled the fingertips of one hand on top of Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire didn’t even flinch; it was horrifying to know that anyone could do just about anything to Grantaire right now, and he would take it, limp but unresisting, as his due. Enjolras slowly lowered his hand until it was completely on Grantaire, but there was still no reaction. The only things Enjolras knew for sure would fix this were time or an opportunity for Grantaire to take care of him. Their time was limited, and it would only work if no one ever mentioned what Grantaire had said ever again, which was not only unlikely, but out of Enjolras’s control. And while he was certainly willing to try to get punished again, Jehan hadn’t even been mildly annoyed the first time, let alone angry; in fact, when he had caused more chaos before, Jehan had helped him, and since there was nothing Enjolras could steal or real orders to ignore, he was out of ideas.

“Grantaire?” he asked quietly. Silence. He wished he knew exactly what Grantaire’s insecurities were so that his reassurances could be specific. Though they had not discussed the nature of their relationship after that first conversation, it had been clear Grantaire was worried he was an inadequate partner, and Enjolras knew those concerns went beyond sex, whatever Grantaire had said. At least it had confirmed for Enjolras that Grantaire didn’t know about his asexuality; Grantaire probably would’ve said the same thing if he had, but he would have appreciated the irony, and not just because of the deflection it would’ve allowed.

“Grantaire, this doesn’t change how I feel about you. I still want to be with you.” More silence, but Grantaire grew a little tenser. Enjolras refrained from pushing, not wanting to lose this little bit of progress by driving Grantaire back into himself or causing him to break down. His only real fear about waiting was that Jehan would come back and interfere, but he could assess the situation and try to get them more time. Jehan could always force them to talk to the police whenever they wanted, but maybe Enjolras could threaten to be less cooperative next time. 

Enjolras almost jumped when Grantaire finally whispered, “You shouldn’t.”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s shoulder. “Nonsense.” He still didn’t say he loved Grantaire, since the object of his affection would only refute the claim, instead of accepting it. “I know what would make me happy, Grantaire, and it would make me happy to be with you.”

Grantaire tried to snort, but it came out more like a huff. “Maybe you should get some therapy then.”

“Grantaire, you don’t need to push me away.” That was too blunt, because Grantaire flipped over so quickly it took Enjolras by surprise. 

“You don’t know anything,” Grantaire hissed, and then his tears came again, much worse this time. Enjolras tentatively reached for Grantaire, who immediately buried his face into Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras mostly felt relief that he somehow hadn’t misjudged Grantaire’s feelings for him. Since Enjolras would have had to take Grantaire’s hood almost all the way off to reach his hair in this position, he settled for rubbing circles into his upper back, careful to keep his arm loose and relaxed in case Grantaire wanted to knock it away.

Grantaire choked out some words occasionally, but Enjolras just hushed him, unable to understand through the tears. Jehan still had not come back, and he wondered if they were purposely giving them privacy. They never seemed to enjoy it when either of them cried, but it was still very early morning, and maybe they were too tired and annoyed this time. Enjolras would have to apologize for Grantaire if Jehan were angry; if Grantaire was this worked up, it was not something he could consciously control or subdue. 

When Grantaire finally cried himself out, he was still very tense, like there had been no release at all. “None of this was your fault, Grantaire. I’m not upset.” It shouldn’t matter how Enjolras felt about what happened, but he knew it did to Grantaire, so he said it anywa. 

“But you don’t know everything.” Grantaire was quiet and miserable and disgusted. He had turned his head so his voice wouldn’t be muffled, but Enjolras still couldn’t see his face.

“That’s alright. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Deep down Enjolras had a morbid but real curiosity about what had happened, but that was nothing compared to his desire for Grantaire to finally have some privacy. Conventional wisdom might be that bottling up feelings was unhealthy, but Enjolras wasn’t sure reliving all his sexual abuse would have a positive effect on Grantaire. It was harder not to know everything that would upset Grantaire, but Enjolras could learn by careful trial and error.

“You’re going to find out. I should never have kept it a secret.” As reticent as Grantaire normally was, Enjolras had no idea what sort of secret Grantaire could have completely kept from him. Had he caught something from Master? That could explain the terrible shame, but Master was hardly ever gone for very long, and it didn’t seem his style to be less than meticulous with other partners. 

“You can tell me if you want, but you don’t have to.” Maybe Grantaire would be more relaxed if he revealed his secret, but Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to do so. It could wait.

Grantaire was even more tense. Enjolras felt his heart start to pound. What had upset Grantaire this much that he didn’t know about? After a very long time, Grantaire finally exhaled sharply and went limp. “I love you.” Enjolras waited, wondering what that had been a prelude to, but Grantaire said no more. 

“I love you, too,” Enjolras said finally, wishing he hadn’t waited so long, but he hadn’t wanted to interrupt Grantaire. He had never even imagined an ideal scenario for telling Grantaire how he felt, since he never thought Grantaire would be willing to have a conversation about it, but it hurt a little that it happened while Grantaire looked totally defeated. Was it the sexual abuse that made it so hard for Grantaire? “It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated. If only Grantaire had let him say it for the last four years, maybe he wouldn’t be this ashamed. Even before Enjolras returned Grantaire’s feelings, he never would’ve wanted the other man to feel ashamed. 

Grantaire brought his hands up and buried his face into them. “But it was. I never had to, but I always did.”

“Did what, Grantaire? Love me? That’s nothing you could control.”

Grantaire let out a horrible sound that was halfway between choking and whining. He took several deep breaths before he could talk. “Sometimes he would let me do things so that your punishments wouldn’t be as bad?” Enjolras’s first instinct was to say Grantaire didn’t need to have done that, that Enjolras could’ve suffered more, but that was literally the opposite of what Grantaire needed to hear, so he simply nodded, slightly exaggerated so that Grantaire could feel it. 

“Sometimes – sometimes he – he knew – I only did it to protect you.” Grantaire hesitated at first but said the last part almost hysterically. Enjolras dared to kiss the top of his head. Grantaire took more deep breaths, and Enjolras felt this would be it, whatever awful thing Grantaire had been dancing around. “Hewouldmakemetouchmyselfandthinkaboutyou.” Enjolras needed a minute to parse the individual words.

Once he did, he expected to feel upset or sad or horrified or angry, but he just felt numb. No wonder Grantaire had never expressed his feelings out loud. Even if Master never specifically mentioned it, Grantaire must have feared total rejection if Enjolras found out. Grantaire had been willing to lose Enjolras completely just to spare him some pain and anxiety. 

“Can I hug you, Grantaire?” he asked. 

Grantaire shook his head after a moment. “No, please. Please don’t. I can’t handle goodbye.”

“Hush.” Enjolras pulled him firmly but gently. “I’m not going anywhere. Grantaire, you are so, so brave. You went through all of that just to help me feel better.” 

“I’m not brave. I’m disgusting,” Grantaire mumbled into his sweater.

Enjolras made sure his voice would be calm and level before he spoke. “You are not disgusting. Grantaire, you were manipulated and abused and raped.”

“But I am. I could have thought of anything and he wouldn’t have known, but I always thought about you.”

Enjolras squeezed him. “Grantaire, your thoughts are your own. You’re certainly allowed to fantasize about whoever you would like.” Enjolras didn’t see the appeal, but he knew most people did. If Grantaire was being forced to come to orgasm in a frightening, stressful situation, it was perfectly reasonable for him to think about Enjolras, if it helped him meet Master’s demands faster and get the whole awful situation over with.

“You don’t get it,” Grantaire snapped, uncovering his face. “It was awful and dirty and shameful, and I thought about you.”

“Grantaire, even if I hated you, that doesn’t give me the right to ban you from thinking about me. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I appreciate what you did, and if imagining me made it better, I’m glad you did it.”

“No, you don’t understand! I never should have done it, but I couldn’t stop!” Grantaire was getting louder and angrier. Enjolras was tempted to raise his voice in return, if only to match Grantaire, but he stopped himself. This was Grantaire’s deepest, darkest secret, and he had probably imagined all the ways Enjolras might find, imagined just how furious Enjolras would undoubtedly be, and now Enjolras was going off-script, so to speak. Whenever Enjolras got so anxious about something he could think of nothing else, it was always disconcerting when nothing bad actually came to pass, sometimes to the point that he just made him more anxious. 

“Grantaire, I’m not angry. I’m not going to become angry. I don’t blame you. I’m not going to blame you. None of this changes how I feel about you.” He paused, but he decided to plow on. “If you ever want to masturbate and fantasize about me now, I’m not going to be angry.” 

Grantaire mumbled “no” a few more times, sounding confused and distant, before sagging back into Enjolras’s chest. “I should make you change your mind. I should tell you everything that happened so you know how slutty I really am.”

“You should let me hold you until you feel better.” Enjolras kissed his head again. It sounded cliché, but it seemed like Grantaire needed lots of love and indulgence until he was more confident Enjolras wasn’t going to reject him. It certainly didn’t hurt that Enjolras could finally give it to him, openly.

They laid like that for a long time. Enjolras tried to stay awake, but Grantaire’s heat and weight were so comforting that he eventually started to doze. He thought Grantaire had fallen asleep too, until he quietly said, “I already said I don’t want to have sex.”

Enjolras blinked back awake and collected his drowsy thoughts. “Grantaire, you can make whatever decisions about your body that you want, and it’s not going to affect how I feel about you. Even if we were to have sex, you could change your mind, and that’s fine too.”

“You’re just saying that because you think you’re supposed to.” The tone of total defeat was back. Enjolras almost did get really angry for one terrible moment at the accusation, but he reminded himself Grantaire was trying to goad him, even if just subconsciously, into ending things. Enjolras was wary of extending a conversation about their sexual relationship, but if Grantaire wouldn’t settle without it, maybe that really was the best option. 

He resumed rubbing Grantaire’s back while he collected his thoughts. He needed time to think, but he didn’t want Grantaire to feel rejected. Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he had come out to someone or what he had said. He knew he had, could remember the conversations, but he also associated those conversations with Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac and maybe even Jehan, but since that couldn’t be right, he doubted the rest. But if even they were somehow real, none of them would be like this one. 

“Grantaire, I’m greysexual.” Enjolras didn’t know if Grantaire had any preconceived notions about asexuality, but he hoped he could frame the conversation around it by naming it right away. If he started talking about personal feelings immediately, Grantaire might, understandably, take it as a milder form of rejection than he had feared, but rejection all the same. Enjolras didn’t think Grantaire felt having sex was an automatic right in a relationship, but he was so upset it would probably be hard to separate that from his internalized shame that he was not worthy of desire.

“So you can feel sexual attraction, just not to me.” That was a very twisted interpretation of what Enjolras had said, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. 

“No, that’s not true.” Enjolras thought again, though he stopped rubbing Grantaire as his hand started to tremble slightly. “It’s not so much that I feel a desire to have sex with someone, it’s more like…I wouldn’t mind it? It’s hard to compare since I don’t know what it really feels like to be allosexual, that’s just my best guess based on what other people seem to feel.”

Grantaire took an equally long time to consider this. “So you wouldn’t even really like it if we did sleep together?”

Enjolras barely refrained from sighing. Just because Grantaire might still be trying to push his buttons, there was nothing wrong with a (potential) partner asking questions. “No, I would like it. I just don’t feel the urge to do it for its own sake.” Grantaire thought about this some more.

“What if we never have sex?”

Enjolras hummed. It was hard to unravel how he actually felt about that question after living in a very hypersexualized society, and his libido had disappeared completely with Master; now that he could think more clearly, he guessed the loss of body fat had completely disrupted his hormones. “If someone were to forbid us, I would be upset, but if it was just because you didn’t feel comfortable, I wouldn’t mind. As long as we could spend time together, that would be enough for me.”

“So this is OK?” Grantaire shrugged his shoulders lightly under Enjolras’s grasp. 

“Yes. I really like cuddling. But I understand why you didn’t feel comfortable doing it before,” he added hastily when it seemed like Grantaire might protest. 

“Are you sure you’re not just making this up so I stop acting like a fucking child?”

“You are not acting like a child, and I’m not lying. I would never lie to you, Grantaire.” 

There was a fairly comfortable silence for awhile, though Enjolras knew the issue was hardly settled, and then Jehan and Éponine finally returned, talking overly loudly to the security guard in the hall before knocking on the door and coming in. Grantaire used what Enjolras could only describe as a warning to sit back up, though he stayed pressed to Enjolras. They automatically held hands under the covers. 

Enjolras watched Jehan and Éponine from under his eyelashes. They both looked tired, and Jehan’s eyes were still a little red and puffy, but all they did was hand each of them a hot cocoa and then talk quietly on the couch with Éponine. When they were close to being done with their drinks, Jehan looked over at them. “I’m really sorry your routine was so disrupted. I know this might be difficult, but could you tell me if you’d like to eat or take a shower or just get some sleep?”

Grantaire shrugged, slight enough that Enjolras could feel it but Jehan couldn’t see it. Enjolras wasn’t surprised, but he wished he knew what Grantaire would like most. At least all the options Jehan had given were pleasant, so even if they chose opposite of what Enjolras said, it wouldn’t be bad. Enjolras wasn’t hungry, after their earlier snack and the cocoa now, and while he was tired, a hot shower did sound nice, and it would give him and Grantaire a little more alone time. “Could we take a shower, please?” he asked softly.

“Of course. Bossuet brought a bunch of clean clothes back while you were sleeping yesterday.” Enjolras almost felt ashamed for a moment at the reminder that he and Grantaire changed just about every day, but it was what Jehan apparently wanted, and there were much worse things they could’ve wanted instead.

Enjolras made sure to keep a point of contact with Grantaire as they went to the bathroom. He gave Grantaire’s hand a comforting squeeze before going to the shower; Grantaire didn’t look up from the plastic tub that had replaced the old cardboard box, but he did return the squeeze. Enjolras reminded himself, like he always did, that these consistent showers were a luxury and he shouldn’t get used to them while he waited for the water to warm, but he still couldn’t stop himself from actually enjoying it. His only compromise was to wash as quickly as possible, now that he had established a routine and didn’t have to slowly and consciously think through each step. 

When he was done, he wrapped a towel around himself and went out to look at the two neat piles of clothes Grantaire had made on the lid of the bin. By the time he realized Grantaire had actually paired one of his own sweaters with a pair of Enjolras’s pants and vice versa, instead of matching them and waiting for Enjolras to make the switch, Enjolras turned to say something, but Grantaire had already fled into the shower. 

He dressed and then sat down on the floor, feeling far warmer than the hot cocoa and shower could’ve made him. Why hadn’t he said anything sooner? He knew, logically, it was because he had been constantly hungry and cold and afraid and anxious, but he still wished he could’ve overcome all that, if it would have made Grantaire feel this content.

Except Grantaire might not have been as content as Enjolras had thought. Enjolras carefully kept his gaze on his lap when Grantaire padded back over, but instead of the usual rustling of Grantaire drying and dressing, Grantaire dropped his damp towel in front of Enjolras and didn’t move. “What are you doing, Grantaire?” he asked, as calmly as he could. 

“You used to look at me,” Grantaire said, angry and accusatory. “How can you say you’re attracted to me but refuse to look at me?”

“It was never your choice, Grantaire.”

“It is now.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “It doesn’t sound like this is something you actually want, Grantaire. I think you’re trying-”

“Don’t tell me what I want!” Grantaire snapped, but his voice cracked and he sank to his knees, and Enjolras could see enough to realize he was shaking. Enjolras wanted to reach out for him but was afraid to touch Grantaire while he was completely naked. 

“Why don’t you get dressed and we can talk about this?” he offered, but Grantaire only shuffled off once he added, “I promise I’m not upset.”

It took longer than normal for Grantaire to dress and he seemed totally drained when he sat down next to Enjolras, though he did allow himself to be drawn in closer. “They’re going to wonder what we’re doing,” Grantaire said softly.

Enjolras shrugged, trying to act braver than he felt. It would probably be suspicious if they stayed in too long after the water had stopped, but Jehan had already let them choose what they wanted, so hopefully they were in a generally forgiving mood. He would offer to take the blame if Jehan were angry, but then Grantaire would refuse to talk and insist they go back to bed immediately.

Enjolras wasn’t sure if he should speak first or wait for Grantaire, but before he could decide, the other man whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m acting like this.”

“It’s fine.” Enjolras kissed his head again, inhaling the scent of fresh detergent and the shampoo Grantaire had used. 

“Do you even like seeing people naked?” Grantaire asked, slight curiosity mixed in with the misery, before Enjolras could say anything else. 

Enjolras thought he had had an answer to this once, but he had to think about it now. “I suppose I appreciate the intimacy of it? But I think you’re really cute like this.” He felt his cheeks grow hot, and Grantaire squirmed slightly. “I’d be happy to look at you if it would feel good or be cathartic for you. I don’t want to if…if what we’ve talked about has made you feel pressured or like you want to prove a point.”

“Sorry,” Grantaire said again. 

There was a soft knock at the door. “Enjolras, are you alright? You don’t have to come out, but I want to make sure nothing’s wrong.” Enjolras helped Grantaire up and unlocked the door, keeping Grantaire slightly behind him in case Jehan was actually mad. 

“I’m sorry,” he said as contritely as he could. He didn’t want their shower privileges to be revoked; Grantaire would blame himself, and it would be hard to convince him otherwise. 

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Jehan said gently as they backed away to give Enjolras and Grantaire space, like they hadn’t expected the door to open. “Why don’t you get some sleep now? I promise we’ll get you something to eat when you wake up, and there won’t be any questions.” Enjolras wasn’t sure about that last part, since he doubted Jehan had any idea when the police would want to question them again, but he wasn’t going to argue. 

He led Grantaire back into bed, and they both adjusted their covers. Enjolras had started waking up uncomfortably warm, probably because he was gaining weight, but the sensation was still so odd that he couldn’t make himself use fewer blankets. Once Grantaire had finished, Enjolras slowly scooted closer, trying to offer Grantaire his shoulder. Grantaire stared at it for a long time and then tentatively laid his head down. He shifted after a minute, and Enjolras helped pull part of a blanket up to act as a makeshift pillow, and this time Grantaire settled. 

“I love you,” he said quietly, the words strange on his tongue, even though he had certainly thought them plenty of times. Grantaire said nothing but pressed into him a little more.


	32. Chapter Thirty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be like a half a chapter and then Plot, but I think we all know by now I have no self-control. I promise Plot next time!

Éponine spent the morning thinking that today had the potential to be a very good day, by her new fucked-up scenes. Not only had Grantaire and Enjolras finally slept through the night, undisturbed by hunger or nightmares, but they had also both eaten nearly a full portion of breakfast and Grantaire was now leaning comfortably against Enjolras. Grantaire had his eyes closed, even though he was awake, and Enjolras was staring off into space, though that was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Combeferre had been concerned that the two of them just sat there doing nothing all day, but Éponine had pointed out that it had clearly been a long fucking time since they had been able to just sit and do nothing. Besides, whatever Grantaire and Enjolras were, it wasn’t bored or restless. As long as no one upset their routine, they were about as content as could be, given the shit they had gone through. The problem was that routine was about to change. 

“Enjolras, we need to step outside for a minute, alright? I promise nothing is wrong and neither of us is upset.” Jehan was gentle as could be but Enjolras’s eyes snapped back into focus and Grantaire went very stiff, though he left his eyes closed. Jehan waited in case Enjolras would respond but he only watched them warily. 

Éponine had to admit it was more comfortable for her than hearing either of them beg, but it made her a lot more nervous. When they begged, it was because they saw obedience as the only possible outcome, but when they didn’t, who knew what they were contemplating? Enjolras had been just about run down to death but still was pretty smart and resourceful then, and now that his physical health was much better and he seemed to process things much faster, and more carefully, than before, he would be even more capable. Éponine suspected most of her friends thought the worst that could happen was Enjolras hiding in the bathroom again. She was more worried he would leave and hide somewhere, hopefully in the hospital, but it seemed a distinct possibility he would run away altogether if pushed too much. And just because he had navigated the hospital successfully, didn’t mean he would fare as well on the streets.

She went after Jehan into the hall and, after some thought, shut the door all the way. Whatever this shit was, it would probably go over better if Jehan explained it all at once, rather than Enjolras trying to eavesdrop and making his own guesses. If she were a different woman, she might talk to Cosette about how she and Jehan had sort of slipped into a strange sort of parenting roles, even though they weren’t partners, and Grantaire and Enjolras definitely weren’t their children. But Éponine wouldn’t, since Enjolras needed some sort of moderating influence, and they were still the only people he was really receptive to. 

Joly was leaning on his cane in the hall, next to a petite but muscular woman in scrubs. She shook their hands as Joly introduced her as his physical therapist and friend, who also worked at the hospital. She looked perfectly pleasant, and she probably was if she and Joly were on good terms, but Éponine didn’t want to come across as either of those things so she folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “What’s all this about? They’re both terrified right now, so this better be worth it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The woman frowned and looked like she actually was. Éponine was even more annoyed, since it wasn’t not like this lady had spent days watching her friends struggle to eat and sleep and just plain function, even though that was unfair. “Joly already told me the basics of the situation.” Éponine wondered if the “basics” included her, since the therapist was unfazed by her glare.

“Combeferre and I were discussing it, and we think Grantaire and Enjolras are ready to start physical therapy. They still need a lot of rest, but it’s also not good for them to be in bed all day.”

“Maybe they want to be in bed all day,” Éponine snapped. “Did you ever think of asking them?”

Joly looked pained. “Éponine-”

“I know total bed rest sounds like just what they need, but now that they’re starting to get better, working some regular activity back in is very important. We want to make sure they’re strong enough to do basic tasks at home once they’re discharged.”

Éponine didn’t know if the therapist meant it as a royal we or was presumptively including her in it, but she didn’t like it either way. “It’s important that they’re not fucking scared all the time.” She looked accusingly at Joly. “They’re perfectly capable of getting up and showering and eating. That’s more than enough to go home.”

Before Joly could respond, the therapist spoke again. “That’s really good, but just getting around an apartment takes a lot more energy than you might think. If you haven’t been on bed rest, it’s hard to understand just how much strength you lose. It would be best for them to work on that in a controlled environment.”

Éponine wanted to snap again even though that was a perfectly reasonable explanation, but Jehan touched her arm. “If I ask Grantaire and Enjolras to do anything once we go home, they’re probably going to do it even if they’re tired or uncomfortable, and they’re probably going to hide that they feel that way. Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t like knowing I could cause either of them distress because I can’t properly comprehend their physical limitations.” Éponine deflated. 

“You’re not selfish, Jehan,” she said very quietly, and Jehan smiled a little bit. She turned back to the physical therapist, making a conscious effort to relax. “What exactly are you going to make them do?”

“From what Joly’s said, Enjolras is still the stronger of the two, so I thought we could start him with a ten minute walk and Grantaire with five minutes for today. We can evaluate how that goes and build from there.” 

“I don’t know how this normally works,” Jehan said politely, since they knew how to deal with people, “but I’d like to suggest not doing it based on time. Enjolras can sometimes...refuse to cooperate when he’s this stressed, even if he just wants to see what happens. I’m very concerned if we suddenly tell him he needs to be away from Grantaire and walk around for ten minutes, that he's just going to work himself up in bed for ten minutes and wait it out. And that won’t be productive or helpful for anyone.”

“I hadn’t even considered that,” Joly admitted, and Jehan stepped closer to rub his arm when he frowned.

“It’s alright, Joly,” they said. “Enjolras Logic is its own special system with its own special rules. I spend almost all my time with him, and I still can’t predict everything he’s going to do, even if it does make sense in hindsight.”

“That’s not a problem,” the therapist said cheerfully, like she was going to drag the mood back up through sheer force of will. “Joly said Grantaire did a lap of the hall before, so we’ll start there, and we can have Enjolras try two or three.”

“Yeah, but Grantaire needed help then,” Éponine pointed out, still trying to maintain her calm tone. It had hurt to see Grantaire that weak and wasted, even after so much rest and care. 

“That’s alright,” said the therapist like it was. “A lot of patients need to be pushed, but Joly already made it clear this situation is the opposite. I’ll err on the conservative side.”

Jehan nodded, and Éponine finally did too, though she let out her remaining exasperation with a sigh. “I think just the two of us should explain,” they said quietly. “I know you mean well, Joly, but they’re already worried, and seeing you when they don’t expect to might make it worse.”

Joly looked rather sad again. “Should I go entirely?”

“That would probably be for the best.” Jehan looked rather sad too, at least for now.

“I understand. I’ll be back this afternoon to check on them.” He hesitated and then added, “If it helps, feel free to blame me or Combeferre for this.”

“No one is going to blame anyone,” Jehan reassured him. “We’ll just explain it’s another piece of their care.”

“I cleared my schedule for this morning, so take your time. I’ll be here whenever they’re ready,” said the therapist as she took a seat proactively. Éponine liked her a little bit. Jehan took a moment to wipe the remaining traces of sadness from their face before leading Éponine back into the room.

Enjolras and Grantaire were sitting up straight, their inner arms slightly twisted like they weren’t quite holding hands their usual way. Enjolras’s bottom lip was already swelling as he gnawed on it, and his free hand was violently twisting the blanket. Grantaire still had his eyes closed, though he looked like he was bracing himself, as if someone might come and try to drag him away at any moment. Which really wasn’t an incorrect assessment of what was coming, it just wouldn’t be as violent as he apparently anticipated.

Éponine hung back, despite her growing guilt at not having a little more backbone to stop this, letting Jehan go up to the bed alone so as not to crowd. It would be an even ratio of people if she joined them, but she didn’t doubt Enjolras would feel outnumbered. His medicine bottle sat in the same spot on his bedside table, though he easily could’ve taken one and carefully put the bottle back exactly in its previous location. 

“I know you’re both really scared, but you haven’t done anything wrong and no one is upset.” Jehan repeated their earlier statement, which had practically become a mantra as this point, and it seemed just as effective as Éponine would’ve expected any of that woo-woo stuff to be. She wondered if their captor had ever been nice on purpose just to terrorize them or if Enjolras had just naturally become suspicious as fuck. There were far worse things to be.

“I know this was awhile ago and a lot has happened between then and now, but do you remember asking about what would happen when you were discharged, Enjolras? When we moved you out of the ICU?” 

Enjolras’s hand stilled as he sunk into deep thought. He began picking at the blanket as he considered an answer. He nodded and glanced up at Jehan, who continued to watch, patient and expectant, and Enjolras said softly, “Dr. Combeferre said we could choose.” His voice trailed off, and when Jehan shifted their weight slightly, he flinched back, as if he expected to be struck. Éponine wanted to go strike whoever had conditioned that response in Enjolras, and that was just for starters. 

“That’s right,” said Jehan warmly. “Though perhaps we were amiss in not following up, but we’ve all sort of assumed at this point that you’d like living with me and Éponine best.” 

Enjolras’s hand flattened out and much of his tension bled away, though he still said quietly, “Whatever you would like.” Grantaire’s mask had slipped momentarily, and he somehow looked even more relieved than Enjolras, though he did glance very quickly at Éponine in confusion before looking back down. If Enjolras had noticed, he didn’t react. 

“Alright, well, we want to make sure you’re healthy before you leave, and Combeferre and Joly would like you to start physical therapy to get stronger. It’ll just be us and the physical therapist, and we’re just going to stay in the hall. We can do whatever you want afterwards.” Enjolras said nothing. At least he hadn’t immediately gotten angry or upset. “Why don’t the two of you come join us outside when you’re ready? There’s no rush.”

Éponine followed Jehan out and checked her phone. She checked it several more times when Grantaire and Enjolras remained in their room. Jehan looked calm, but they shot her a worried look when fifteen minutes had passed. After twenty minutes, Enjolras cracked the door open, only half his body visible. “Is something wrong, Enjolras?” Jehan asked, not moving from their spot. 

“You’re going to keep us?” Enjolras asked and now he did sound angry, managing to look up at Jehan for a few seconds. Éponine didn’t know why this was still a point of contention for him, since Jehan had confirmed this many, many times now, but she supposed if he felt the only alternative was going back to his prior…situation, it made sense he would need a lot of reassurance he was safe, and this was the only way he felt comfortable asking for it.

“Yes, of course.” 

Enjolras bit his lip so hard Éponine was amazed it didn’t bleed. “Why are you making us do this?” It was almost painful to hear the amount of suspicion in Enjolras’s voice, and Éponine wasn’t even the one being accused.

“It’s just like I said, Enjolras. We just want you to be able to take care of yourselves when we go home.” 

“Please, I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to do this.” Enjolras was suddenly quiet and submissive again, though Éponine couldn’t tell if it was put on for Jehan’s benefit or real. The change in tone was both massive and fast, but Cosette had warned all of them, ad nauseam, that mood swings were to be expected, especially when Grantaire and Enjolras still weren’t talking about how they felt. When Jehan said nothing, as they were probably trying to think of a suitable response, Enjolras shook a little and added, “Please, Grantaire needs to rest.”

“You both do,” agreed Jehan pleasantly. “We just want you to walk for a little bit. I promise you can go right back to bed after, for the rest of the day.”

“I don’t mean to butt in,” the physical therapist said, getting up and coming to stand near Jehan, “but I’m not going to push either of you. We’ll stop as soon as you get tired.” Enjolras pushed the door shut further while he regarded her, and Éponine thought it was a close thing that he hadn’t just slammed it shut. 

He looked nervously between Jehan and the woman, even after Jehan said, “I’ll be happy no matter what, Enjolras. I just want you to try.”

“Enjolras, she’s helped Joly and he recommended her, but you don’t know her.” Enjolras’s shoulders dropped a little and he finally retreated. Éponine held her breath, but he came back quickly, this time towing Grantaire along by the wrist with a folded blanket hugged to his chest. 

“Great!” said the physical therapist as she beamed. Éponine wondered if Joly had any friends that weren’t happy. Then she looked at Grantaire, who was hovering like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hide behind Enjolras or not, and she wished she could give him a hug. Well, she could, but Enjolras would probably break her arm and that would be distinctly unhelpful. “Which of you would like to go first?” 

Grantaire shuffled forward, quickly enough that he and Enjolras must have already decided on their preferred order. Éponine was surprised Enjolras didn’t want to go first, but she was sure it made sense to him. Enjolras still held Grantaire’s wrist firmly. “Wonderful. Grantaire, I know you’ve been feeling pretty crummy, so we’re just going to walk down the hall and back.” The therapist took a step but Enjolras did not let go. Jehan and Éponine looked at each other. 

“Enjolras, what’s wrong?” Jehan asked gently, but Enjolras didn’t reply or even move. “If you tell me what’s frightening you, I promise we’ll fix it.” Enjolras looked up and down to the hallway briefly before staring back on the ground.

“Will it help if I go stand at the end?” Éponine offered. Enjolras nodded quickly, and she walked away. Cosette would tell her not to beat herself up, but Éponine was going to do it anyway. It was so easy to forget about Enjolras’s separation anxiety when he was always with Grantaire. Cosette had at least been right that he could function pretty well once that condition was met. But she shouldn’t have let herself forget in the first place. She was worried that the Ghost of Grantaire’s Past might haunt her tonight if it found out Enjolras actually wanted to be close to him at all times and Éponine had forgotten. 

She planted her feet wide and stood in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the perfectly pleasant greeting from the security guard stationed there. She was far enough away Enjolras wouldn’t be able to hear her, and she didn’t want him to worry about what was being said. Enjolras watched her for a long time and then slid his hand from Grantaire’s wrist to squeeze the other man’s hand before finally releasing him, now using both arms to clutch the blanket. 

Jehan said something and gestured toward the bench, but Enjolras shook his head and stood resolutely in place. Éponine had never thought it was possible to stand resolutely, but that was exactly what Enjolras was doing. The therapist said something cheerful and reassuring, but it made Enjolras’s face grow dark, and he seated himself on the very edge of the bench, like he might need to spring up at any moment. It made Éponine appreciate just how much trust it took for him to let a stranger lead Grantaire away. She almost wanted to hug Enjolras too, but then forget about being haunted by Past Grantaire, Present Grantaire would probably murder her in her sleep. Good for him.

Finally, the therapist began to walk down the hall with Grantaire, staying close enough to catch him if he stumbled or fell, but carefully not touching him. She had been telling the truth when she said Joly had prepared her. Enjolras watched carefully from the bench, not even keeping his head bowed, ignoring whatever Jehan was saying to him, just like Grantaire was finding the floor far more interesting than whatever the therapist was saying. He looked so worn and tired by the time they reached Éponine, which took much longer than Éponine’s own walk had, that she couldn’t help but say, “I bet Enjolras is really proud of you, R.” Grantaire turned bright red and ducked his head. Maybe the only good thing about his silence was that he couldn’t deflect her compliments any more. 

The instant Grantaire got back to the bench, Enjolras was on his feet and wrapping him up in the blanket, only satisfied once Grantaire was completely bundled up and comfortably seated. Grantaire did look exhausted, leaning back against the wall, though he tilted his head enough to be able to watch Enjolras, who was obediently shuffling alongside the therapist, arms wrapped around himself. Every so often, he looked over his shoulder to check on Grantaire. Enjolras walked towards Éponine fairly quickly and then took his time going back to Grantaire, though after three laps it looked like he was struggling to hide actual fatigue. 

Éponine started to walk back. The therapist said something, probably that they were finished, and Enjolras immediately pulled Grantaire up and hustled him past Jehan and back into the room, suddenly moving very quickly. 

Jehan’s face fell a little once the two of them were safely out of sight. “Do you think that did more harm than good?” 

“It’s not really my place, but it was good for them physically,” said the therapist, as she prepared to leave. “I’ll let Joly know how this went. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waved and left, and Éponine sank down onto the bench, patting the space next to her until Jehan sat down too. There was silence, until Éponine wrapped an arm around Jehan’s shoulders and squeezed.

“Do you want to take a break for a day? We could say you had to go to work or something.”

Jehan looked up at her in mock-horror. “Are you actually agreeing with Cosette?”

“Ugh, I guess. But I hate seeing you this sad because you’re stuck choosing between two bad options.”

“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” they said rather sharply. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” They sighed. “We should probably go try to…debrief.”

“Alright. It’s still really shitty though.”

Jehan stood and pulled Éponine up after them. “I’m trying to tell myself one day they’ll understand we were acting in their best interest.” Éponine felt once again like they were in an extremely strange parent-child relationship. But she was pretty sure children made more sense, since when they tentatively went back in, they found Enjolras standing next to the bed, curtains drawn to hide Grantaire, though he had a hand through them to use the mattress for support.

“Enjolras, what’s wrong?” Jehan asked. “Do you not want to rest?”

“I want to ask questions,” Enjolras said to the floor, freezing after he did so, like that perfectly reasonable request could be grounds for being hurt. 

“Of course, you can ask anything you want,” Jehan agreed as they settled on the couch. Éponine joined them. “Does Grantaire want to ask anything?”

“He’s already asleep,” said Enjolras with enough acid in his voice Éponine wanted to stand back up and applaud.

Instead, she just said, so that Jehan wouldn’t have to, “Enjolras, why don’t you sit down? You look tired.” Enjolras glared at the floor but complied, pushing the curtain back a bit so he could perch on the edge of the bed. 

“What do you want to ask?” Jehan prompted when Enjolras said nothing.

“Why – why have we been here so long?” Enjolras’s slowness seemed more deliberate than it had in the past, like it was now something he could choose rather than the inevitable result of his muddled thoughts. 

“Combeferre and Joly think you both need more time to recover in a controlled environment.” They looked at Éponine and she shrugged. “Courfeyrac and Marius also think it would be…safest for you to be here for now.”

“You haven’t caught him yet?” Enjolras asked quietly.

“No, but the police are doing their best. Did you think we wouldn’t tell you?”

Enjolras stared at the ground and finally shrugged. He eventually started twisting his fingers together. Éponine wondered if it was possible to break them that way. “When we leave, is it – is it going to be like before?” 

“What do you mean, Enjolras? I promise you and Grantaire can stay together.” Enjolras didn’t reply but kept twisting his fingers, so Jehan elaborated, “We got as many of your things out of storage as we could fit in our apartment, and we set up the second bedroom for the two of you. But we can always change it if you don’t like it.”

Enjolras almost looked up but caught himself just in time. Éponine took a wild guess and said, “Jehan and I aren’t together, Enjolras. We’re just going to share a room to make space for now.”

“Why would you do that?” Enjolras blurted out before looking horrified. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Enjolras, it’s fine,” Jehan soothed. “I’m not upset. We’re doing it because we care about you and want you to have your own space and privacy.”

Enjolras thought about this for a long time. “What will I have to do?”

“You won’t have to do anything besides rest. If there’s something specific you want to do once you’re feeling better, we can talk about how to make that happen.”

“I can cook and clean,” Enjolras offered, desperate, and Éponine worried this conversation was setting him up for a hysterical meltdown, though based on his experiences, maybe calling it a rational meltdown would make more sense.

“If you feel obligated to help with chores, we can talk about that,” Jehan said in a remarkably even tone, but Éponine felt the shift in the air right before Enjolras fell painfully to his knees.

“Please, I’ll do whatever you want.” Here was the hysteria. 

“Enjolras, you don’t need to do anything. I promise we only want you to get better.” 

“No, please,” he begged. 

“Enjolras, we’re not going to – to do anything to Grantaire either,” Éponine interjected, and when Jehan reiterated what she had said, Enjolras calmed a bit. He stayed that way, still on his knees but trying to catch his breath, when there was a tap at the door and Courfeyrac poked his head in. Éponine was shocked Enjolras didn’t fly straight out the window. She, on the other hand, flew straight out the door, pushing Courfeyrac ahead of her.

“Shit. Sorry,” he said immediately. “I thought they were usually sleeping now, or I would’ve just texted.” Behind the door, they could hear Enjolras’s voice, once again loud and hysterical, punctuated by periods of silence that were probably filled with Jehan’s quiet voice, inaudible through the door. 

“The whole thing’s shitty,” she said and pulled Courfeyrac away. It probably wouldn’t be helpful for him to hear his best friend carry on like that, and he didn’t even know exactly why he had set Enjolras off, and it was probably better for it to stay that way. 

They walked for awhile, but Courfeyrac looked so guilty that Éponine broke the ice. “Do the police need to question them again?” She really hoped not, because there wasn’t much she could do besides try to make them wait until later. 

“Oh, um, no,” he said, and Éponine wondered if he had spent so much time with Marius some of the awkwardness was wearing off on him. “They actually need to talk to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best to research what sort of physical therapy E/R might get, but most of what I could find either just said people on bed rest should at least get some activity, if possible, or to get off the Internet and see a real physical therapist, so I just made my best guess? I've also gone with the fanon interpretation of Joly having some sort of mystery leg problem, but I figured it wasn't too much of a leap to assume he got physical therapy for it.


	33. Chapter Thirty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back the plot truck up! This is not from Courfeyrac's perspective, but it has a lot of him in it, so I hope that pleases everyone who wanted more of him?

Éponine pushed the food around on her plate wordlessly. As shitty as she felt, it was nowhere close to how shitty Grantaire and Enjolras must feel. No wonder they sometimes struggled to eat, even when they had to be starving. The cafeteria was crowded with the crush of peak lunchtime traffic, so at least Courfeyrac was busy making friends with the family sharing their table and not talking to her. The whole point of cutting her parents out her life was, well, to cut them out, and now the universe seemed intent on trying to glue them back together.

The family eventually got up and left, and when Courfeyrac turned his attention back to her, Éponine grew suddenly interested in actually eating. Courfeyrac started eating too, though much more slowly, watching her over his fork, but he didn’t say anything. Éponine looked away when she had cleaned her plate, watching droves of employees and visitors buying their own lunches, and while some of them looked unhappy, none were as miserable as her and Courfeyrac. 

“Which uncomfortable topic do you want to discuss first?” Courfeyrac finally asked. “We could flip a coin to decide.”

Éponine dragged her eyes away from the line at the cashier’s station. “Courfeyrac, Enjolras was already primed to go off when you showed up. Don’t blame yourself.”

“He really – he really thinks I would hurt him?” Courfeyrac managed to keep his voice from cracking, just barely.

“No, I don’t think so.” Éponine hoped he wouldn’t press. Courfeyrac frowned.

“But he was so upset just seeing me-” 

“He had already had a very stressful morning. I’m sure it was just the unexpected visit that frightened him. We even had Joly leave for the physical therapy, since he only comes in the afternoons now.”

“Oh, Ferre mentioned they were going to start soon. I didn’t realize it would be today.” His voice faded away as he stared off at nothing in particular. “I guess they’ll probably be ready to go home once the police catch this guy.” Courfeyrac was very quiet and still, and it almost scared Éponine to see him like that. 

“Courf, what’s wrong?” 

“Oh, nothing. It’ll just be a big change.” He did his best to smile and probably could’ve convinced anyone who didn’t know him well that he really was fine.

“Courf, don’t make me tell Marius you’re moping. I don’t know if Combeferre can keep a straight face again if Marius tells him you’re in desperate need of a good Netflix and chill night.” Courfeyrac didn’t even laugh, and now Éponine really was worried.

“No. It’s really fine. Ferre is already busy working like a billion hours a week on top of everything else. He doesn’t have to time to worry about this.” He waved his hand around to make “this” go away.

“Courfeyrac, I’m pretty sure the first thing Combeferre would say is that he always has time to listen to your problems.”

Courfeyrac did smile a little at that, but it quickly disappeared. “Yeah, but this is just a problem, it’s not like a problem-problem. It’s fine.”

“OK, well, I’m going to assume you’re not worried this douche is going to break out of prison or something once he’s caught, because I’m pretty sure you’d consider that a capital P Problem. Are you unhappy with how we set their room up at the apartment? You could’ve helped, you know.” Éponine tried to say the last bit playfully, but Courfeyrac still had to busy himself with a napkin and pretend like he had something in his eyes. 

“Sorry, it’s so stupid.” He got another napkin to blow his nose, and Éponine wondered if they should move somewhere private, but everyone around them was preoccupied, and the general din pretty much drowned Courfeyrac out to everyone but her. “You’ll be pissed if I say. Just let’s not worry about it.”

“Courf.” Éponine wanted to roll her eyes but stopper herself. “I’m only pissed when you think it’s OK for their hospital room to double as a police station. I’m not going to be mad at you for how you feel. Honest.” She pushed the napkin dispenser in front of Courfeyrac. It looked like he might need it. Maybe Cosette could write a paper about how often they were all crying. 

Several napkins later, Courfeyrac finally said, “I know it’s so stupid and selfish. I just always pretended in my head that Enjolras was going to come back and be fine and that our guest room was really his bedroom and he’d come live with me and Ferre and we’d help him with whatever and everything would be fine again.” A few more napkins were added to the pile while Éponine glared at an older couple that were just about to sit down at the next table until they got the hint and left. 

“You’re jealous because Jehan and I get to have our best friend come live with us and you don’t?” Courfeyrac nodded miserably and blew his nose again.

“Ferre said he was going to be fine, but I was so scared at first that Enjolras was going to die. I know you were with Grantaire and he was worse so I shouldn’t complain, but he had such a high fever and was so thin, and I was just so happy when he got better, but now I can’t stop fixating on this one thing. It’s so stupid.”

“Courf, are you mad that the two of them haven’t adjusted to their new lives yet?”

“What? No! Of course not. That can’t just get over…all that right away.”

“So why are you beating yourself up now that you’re going through the same thing? You had a coping mechanism to get through all the uncertainty, and now you acknowledge it’s not working. I’m sure with enough time you’ll figure out something new. It’s probably for the best that Enjolras doesn’t know, since he wouldn’t understand what you really mean, but there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.”

Courfeyrac blew out a breath. “Are you sure you’re not Cosette in disguise?”

“OK, now I’m offended,” Éponine said, keeping a straight face until Courfeyrac laughed a little. “Seriously, as the world’s leading expert on jealousy, I’m not upset with how you feel. Shit, if all this was reversed, I’d probably be commissioning Feuilly to build a loft in your apartment so I could move in too.” She touched Courfeyrac’s hand gently. “I’m not going to say you can come visit them any time you want, because that’s not up to me, but I’m certainly not going to keep them from you away.”

Courfeyrac blew his nose again, but then he pushed all the soiled napkins into a mound on his tray, like he had finally got it out of his system. “Do you mind if I ask why you didn’t want to talk to Combeferre about this?”

“I already told you. He’s so busy saving lives and all that really important stuff. Besides, he was the one – the one that thought we should have them declared dead last year. I don’t need to bother him with me finding out my dumb fantasy was even dumber than I thought.”

Éponine wondered how her friends could be so smart but so stupid at the same time. That was what Cosette should really write a paper about. Éponine could help provide examples and get authorial credit. “Courf. You think Combeferre, the person who researched how to store all sorts of shit properly and catalogued it all and kept paying what I can only imagine are highway robbery prices to have kept it in storage, really believed they were dead?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I assumed it was his way of grieving without looking like he had really give up hope. The lack of closure sucked. I mean, it was always the three of us, but Combeferre just prefers having fewer close friends, so I didn’t want to criticize him for how he was coping. At least I still had Marius to talk to, and like a million other people to go out with if I just wanted to forget.” 

“Alright, I’m going to be really crass for a second here. What did you do with all Enjolras’s money? After he was declared dead.”

“Oh.” Courfeyrac had to think for a minute. “It was – I wasn’t really ready to think about it, so I just didn’t. I know Enjolras had a will and everything even though he was young and healthy, because that’s his special brand of anal retentiveness.” Courfeyrac started spinning his plate around on his tray. “I said Marius should do it because he was more impartial, but really it was just too much of a downer to think about Enjolras dying. Combeferre was the executor. I’m pretty sure Enjolras wanted everything donated to charity. I know Ferre talked to Bossuet about it, I’m sure he knows if you want to ask him.”

“Did Combeferre ever donate it though?”

Courfeyrac stopped spinning his plate and stared at her. “What are you saying? That Ferre wouldn’t respect Enjolras’s final wishes?”

Éponine really did roll her eyes this time. “Now you are being stupid. No, I’m suggesting perhaps he didn’t think there was enough finality for those wishes to be executed.” Courfeyrac kept staring. “OK, listen. I was the beneficiary on Grantaire’s bank account because they made him pick someone when he opened his account. I didn’t know what the fuck to do with it, so Bossuet had me put it all in a CD so that it would do more good than just sitting under my mattress but I wouldn’t get fucked over by the market or whatever. R’s had to start over before, and I didn’t want to make him do it again.”

“But why would Ferre go through all that trouble? If Enjolras was only missing, his money would’ve just stayed where it was.”

“Yeah, but how fucked would Enjolras have been if he re-appeared as a rich person? I don’t want to ever find out how much it costs per day for him to be here, because I’m pretty sure I would throw up if I knew, but now that he is a resident of Paupersville, it’s all covered. If he and Grantaire decide they want to move out on their own, they’ll qualify for assistance.” She smiled a little as Courfeyrac processed all this in what looked like slow motion. “Considering Enjolras hasn’t broached the topic of money yet, I think it’s safe to guess he’s doesn’t remember how it works, at least for right now. It would be really shitty to drop a bunch of bills on him when he can’t control or even understand what’s happening. This way Combeferre can keep track of it and return it when Enjolras is ready.” 

“Fuck. I was such a dick to Ferre when he did that. I’m going to have to apologize next time I manage to see him.” And Cosette thought Éponine had the communication issues. 

“Listen, I’m pretty sure Combeferre will be the last person on this planet to hold it against you. His grieving was just…productive because that’s just how he is. I’m pretty sure if you were like him, you’d both live in a library somewhere and die of stress-induced heart attacks in the next five years. You’re good for him.” Courfeyrac smiled a little bit again, though not as much as Éponine had hoped, so she stood up with her tray and said, “Come on, sharing is caring. I’m pretty sure it’s officially my turn to talk about shitty stuff.”

“Right, sure.” He stood up as well, and Éponine followed him after they had dumped their trays into the garbage. “We’ll see when we get to the conference room, but I think the police sent Cute Cop, so hopefully this won’t be as bad as you think.”

“Does Cute Cop have a name?” Éponine asked as they got on an elevator, and the few people already in it looked like they were trying very hard to listen without being obvious about it, which of course made it very obvious, but Courfeyrac was happily undeterred.

“Yeah, but it’s something really boring. It’s way more fun to call him Cute Cop.”

“I’m sure Combeferre doesn’t think his name is boring.”

“Oh, Ferre doesn’t mind, since I call him-”

“Nope. I don’t want to know.” A woman got off the elevator looking distinctly peeved she didn’t get to find out what Courfeyrac called Combeferre. It was probably so nonsensical she wouldn’t have understood it or so embarrassing she would’ve gotten off there whether it was really her floor or not. 

When they got to the conference room, Éponine did have to admit Cute Cop did live up to his nickname. Courfeyrac was the lawyer, and if he wanted Cute Cop for this, she guessed more power to him, but she really wished she could’ve gotten Hideous Cop, or even Slightly Questionable With Less Than Three Drinks in Her System Cop, if the universe didn’t want to be quite that nice to her.

“You must be Éponine,” he said brightly, standing up to shake her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, though I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances.” Éponine was suddenly acutely aware of how gross and unkempt she was. She tried to at least change her clothes and brush her hair every day, but there was a reason she described it as trying and not doing. It probably didn’t look like she had turned her life around very well at all. Awesome.

Cute Cop sat back down, and she and Courfeyrac took seats on the opposite side of the table. Cute Cop cleared his throat and put a small recorder between them, next to his notepad. “I just want to clarify that you’re not a suspect and you’re here under your own volition.” Éponine nodded, but then confirmed verbally when Cute Cop pointed at the recorder. 

“OK, Éponine, I want to talk about your father. Do you know where he is?”

“Well, your use of the present tense implies he’s managed not to bite the dust yet, so I’m going to hazard a guess he’s alive somewhere, but other than that I have no idea.”

“So you’re unaware he’s currently in prison for drug trafficking?”

Éponine supposed it was far better to have Courfeyrac here instead of Marius, but she wished she had thought to ask for Bahorel instead. “Nope. Great for him. I’m sure he’ll re-offend the second you let him out.”

Cute Cop made a note and then asked, “Have you ever provided your father with any money?”

“In what time frame?” Courfeyrac asked, voice calm and pleasant.

“Let’s say the last two years.” 

“I haven’t talked to him in the last ten years, so that’s going to be a hard no. I don’t know how rich you think I am, but even if I did talk to him, I wouldn’t give him jack shit.” Courfeyrac nudged her with his elbow, but she ignored it. Cute Cop was unruffled.

“That’s an interesting response, since someone has, up until very recently, been making regular, and rather generous, deposits to his commissary account with a credit card in your name.”

“Fuck. Did someone steal my identity?” She didn’t think this situation could get any more stressful, so of course it had. She had worked hard to do all the right things to get a good credit score, and she couldn’t imagine losing all of that. She wondered if it would screw up her apartment and therefore screw over Jehan and Grantaire and Enjolras. A homeless shelter was definitely not going to accommodate their special needs. 

“I suppose the technical answer is yes, and I’m sure Courfeyrac can advise you how to proceed, but I’m going to say it might not be as bad as you think. The mailing address for the credit card was the house next door to where Enjolras and Grantaire were held. We got the records, and it was only used for those payments, which have now stopped. I think you’ll find there’s no more issues once we find who did this.”

“Maybe the criminal genes skipped a generation, but that doesn't exactly sound...subtle.”

Cute Cop nodded. “I know, but it probably would've only been discovered if everything hit the fan, so to speak, or you checked your credit report and noticed there was a card you hadn't opened. But since it was getting paid in full every month, it was actually boosting your score, and a majority of people only bother to investigate if there’s a problem. And the prison had no reason to think there was anything wrong with a daughter helping her father.” Éponine wanted to spit on the floor, but she was irrationally worried it would set off some secret hospital alarm. Or magically summon Joly to give her a lecture about germs.

Éponine felt violated that someone had impersonated her like that, then she was angry with herself for feeling like that in the face of what Grantaire and Enjolras had gone through. She hadn't even known it was happening. They hadn't had that luxury. “Do you have any idea why someone was giving him money? If they're expecting to be paid back when he gets out, they're going to be sorely disappointed.” 

Cute Cop shook his head this time. “We don't believe that's quite the situation here. Éponine, was your father ever involved in any Internet crime?” 

“In what time frame?” Courfeyrac asked again. 

“Let’s say the last few years again.” 

Éponine wondered how pissed Courfeyrac would be if she just got up and left. Jehan had probably gotten Enjolras calmed down by now, and they could certainly use a break. “I. Don't. Know.”

“What about when you were a child?”

“You don't have to answer, Éponine,” Courfeyrac said quickly, putting out a hand. 

She sighed in exasperation. “I don't think so. It's not like we had reliable Internet access, which I'm going to guess is sort of a requirement for, you know, Internet crime. I guess he could've used the library or something, but I'm sure he would've attracted attention. He's not exactly the bookish type. Besides, he can do just fine conning people in person, if he wants.” 

“What would you say if I told you that he's been a model prisoner so far? It's always a little concerning putting someone with an unknown gang background into the general population, but apparently he gets along with just about everyone.”

Éponine scoffed. “It's just an act.”

“It's been several years.” Cute Cop paused as if he expected Éponine might need time to come to terms with the revelation.

She shrugged again. She could only hope her father would be in there for many more years, though maybe it didn't really matter, since he could still indirectly harass her like this. “OK, so he's getting something he wants out of his arrangement then. I don't know what else you think I have to say on the subject.”

“What types of things did he usually get out of his previous schemes?”

Before Courfeyrac could tell her she didn't have to answer, Éponine snapped, “Did you even go to cop school? He wanted money. What else would he want?” 

Cute Cop was remained unfazed. Éponine wondered how pissed Courfeyrac would be if she punched him. Probably a lot, because then she would need his legal services to defend her at her trial for assaulting a police officer. “Can you just tell me what the fuck is going on? I have more important things to do.”

“Well, I'm a bit limited it what I can say, but let's say you find yourself in prison and need a way to placate rival groups to stay safe but don’t really want to join one, for whatever reason. One way to do that is to give them items of value, many of which are available at the commissary but are out of reach financially for most prisoners. 

“By that point, most don't have anyone still in their lives well off enough to give them anything substantial, let alone on a consistent basis. But then consider how it might not be in your best interest to be giving out something for nothing. It would be much better to set up a mutually beneficial trade.”

“What, so he bought people shampoo in exchange for prison hooch?”

“No. Alright, look, some of the guys were pretty happy to do interviews with us in case it would get them some leniency later on. They're not exactly the next Albert Einsteins of the world.” Courfeyrac made an unpleasant face but said nothing. “Apparently if they used their calling card minutes to help persuade their...acquaintances or remaining family members to be receptive to certain emails they had received, there would be more coming their way. Some of the more...enterprising individuals negotiated a specific cut of what they brought in. Though I would feel safe betting that they were really getting less than their ‘fair’ share.” 

“So Éponine’s father was preying on an uneducated and vulnerable population?”

“And why does that even matter? I've already told you I don't know anything. And this doesn’t have anything to do with Grantaire and Enjolras.”

“Have either of them said anything about how their captor made his money? I know those cottages don't look spectacular, but they're not what anyone would call cheap, especially that close to the water. The utilities and title might be under what we assume is a fake name, but there are no delinquent bills, not even the property taxes.”

“No, they haven't,” said Courfeyrac. He glanced sideways at Éponine, and she shrugged. “We were just discussing this, sort of, and we both agree that neither of them probably have a grasp of how money works anymore. I'm going to guess that with everything else going on, it wasn't exactly something they thought about.” Éponine thought this was a massive understatement but let it go. 

“Well, we searched through your father’s Internet history, and he certainly wasn't doing anything nefarious. In fact, I would almost go so far as to say he was purposely being...not suspicious.”

Éponine was starting to get a headache. Why couldn't everyone just say what they meant? She wished she had thought of texting everyone to see if anyone else could've gone to relieve Jehan, because who knew how much longer she would be here. “Wait, are you saying their captor made all his money through phishing? And my father helped supply the victims?”

“Yes, we believe it was something like that. Your father seemed to have a habit of calling prepaid cell phones and providing intimate details from his fellow prisoners like he was in a soap opera.”

There was a long silence. Éponine was impressed at Courfeyrac’s calm when he finally asked, “So what did Enjolras and Grantaire have to do with that? It doesn't sound like they were...necessary.” Éponine really did have a headache now. There was no justification for what happened to Grantaire and Enjolras, but knowing their captor really had only kept them to hurt them made her feel physically ill. She couldn't even appreciate the irony that Enjolras probably would've submitted to such torture if it was for a worthy cause. And that Grantaire certainly would've followed him willingly if that had been the case. 

“I think that isn't a question we can answer at this point in time. Four years is a long time to go without leveraging them for money, but that doesn't rule it out as a possibility.”

“We’re not asking Enjolras,” Éponine said before Courfeyrac could suggest it. “For all we know, he might have been planning to kill them. It's not going to help catch this guy, so we're not going to risk upsetting them for nothing.” 

“I'm guessing you have plenty of leads but nothing definite yet?” Courfeyrac asked instead. 

“That guess would be correct. We've found the person Éponine’s father called, and we have him under surveillance, but he's not who we really want.”

“My father must know.” Éponine had never hated him quite so much. 

“I don't doubt he does, but I think he's more scared of retaliation than sitting in prison the rest of his life.” Cute Cop looked tired for the first time. “Listen, the police would like to have a press conference to see if it results in any helpful tips, but I said we shouldn't do it without asking someone first. The press interest is waning a little bit due to lack of information, and this will stir it up again.”

“Why didn't you do this sooner?” Éponine wasn't sure whether a press conference would better or worse than nothing, but it hadn't even been presented as an option. Cute Cop said nothing. 

Courfeyrac got a strange look and then deliberately reached over the table and paused the recorder. “Oops,” he said in a monotone. 

Cute Cop sighed and looked utterly exhausted now. “Alright, off the record, but we've had an informant agree to share information if they can do so anonymously under the guise of this press conference.” 

“What the fuck.” At least if Éponine’s head exploded, her headache would be gone. “Just make them tell you now.” 

“I wish I could,” Cute Cop said sincerely, “but they're a very reliable informant, and people far, far above me don't want to jeopardize the relationship. It's one of those needs of the many situations.” 

“Enjolras will understand that, at least.” Courfeyrac was quiet and gloomy now too. 

“He's not going to understand anything,” Éponine said. “Grantaire was already threatened with being...paraded in front of others. It would only upset them to know the whole world knows what happened to them.” 

“Is this informant the one who leaked where they were in the first place?” Courfeyrac asked, idly tracing patterns on the desk. 

“I honestly don't know. All I can say is once everyone from the hospital was ruled out, the investigation into the leak fizzled out pretty quickly.” 

Éponine put her head in hands. She wanted to scream. What was the point of any of this? “So I get this asshole wants to be useful and keep his government-endorsed criminal lifestyle by providing key information now, but why do anything in the first place?” 

“He wanted to give their captor a chance to get away but still get credit for knowing him, didn't he?” suggested Courfeyrac. “There was an information vacuum about the whole thing, and he filled it with nothing but tidbits about Enjolras and Grantaire, so that's all the media focused on.” 

“I imagine you're a very good lawyer,” Cute Cop said, but Courfeyrac just kept drawing invisible images on the table. The recorder was unpaused and the interview summarily ended, but Éponine was in a fog. She began walking back to the hospital room, even though she felt disconnected from her body. 

“Éponine.” Courfeyrac touched her arm and she stopped. “They're going to find whoever did this. Soon.” 

“I know.” 

He softened a bit. “Éponine, everyone thinks I'm the biggest extrovert to ever extrovert, but the sheer number of people you know puts me to shame. No one is going to hold it against if you happen to know who it is when the police catch him.” 

“I know.” 

“Éponine, if you tried to follow everyone you ever knew, you could never sleep again and still not have nearly enough time. This is no more your fault than Enjolras’s or Grantaire’s.”

“I know.” She needed to stop repeating herself, but she didn't, well, know what to say instead. 

Courfeyrac tugged on her arm and propelled her down the hall. “Come on. Jehan needs a break, but you're in no state to watch yourself, let alone anyone else. We're going to go to the coffee cart and get you the biggest coffee they sell and one of those muffins that have like three days’ worth of calories in them.”

“The ones Joly thinks should be illegal to sell in a hospital?” Éponine asked, a very long time after Courfeyrac had spoken. 

“Yep. Joly’s hand-wringing is the secret ingredient to making them taste so good. It's scientifically proven.” 

“I'm pretty sure it's all the sugar,” she said at a more socially appropriate interval this time. 

“You say potato, I say potato.”

“Courfeyrac, that joke only works if you don't pronounce them the same way.”

“Ah, now you sound back to normal.”

“What, why?”

“Because you're grumpy about things that don't really matter. That means when Enjolras starts trying to climb out through the ceiling vents later today, you’ll be perfectly pleasant about the whole thing. Come on, coffee and muffin time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't already obvious, I have no idea how police questioning works. So I just made it up! Most of what I could find was about how to talk to witnesses to determine what happened in he said/she said situations, which is not exactly helpful here. Let's all suspend our disbelief together!


	34. Chapter Thirty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...really don't know how this chapter got so long. (And it only has like half of the content in it I planned!)

Enjolras bent his head until he could see Grantaire’s face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep. Enjolras’s collarbone was partially exposed, the loose collars of both his hospital gown and Grantaire’s sweater slipping down his chest, and Grantaire’s warm breath was puffing in an even rhythm across his skin. Some of his dark curls were peeking out from underneath of his hoodie. Enjolras shifted slightly but Grantaire only released a long, ticklish sigh before settling back down. It was so intimate it almost hurt. 

He let himself enjoy the moment for some time. The physical therapist had pushed him every day, and now worked him for half an hour each morning, and it felt incredibly good just to rest in bed afterwards. The exercise left Enjolras so sore and tired he wondered how he had ever run away before, especially the time he had done it the right way and carried Grantaire; it seemed impossible and he couldn’t think about it too long, or the irrational fear would creep in, that they had never gotten away and this was all a dream. 

It was easier now to recognize that that fear was irrational, that most of his fears involving Master finding them and hurting them were irrational, and Enjolras couldn’t help but marvel at how much regular food and rest helped clear his mind. He had known, at least to the extent he was capable of knowing, that his thoughts had muddled and slow yet quick to spiral out of control, but it was frightening to realize how impaired he had been almost all of the time. 

He slowly moved his arm over to the curtain to peer out, even though he knew what he would find: Jehan and Éponine would be sitting on the couch, probably reading and knitting, and once Grantaire woke up as well, Jehan would order them a terrifyingly large lunch, except Enjolras really could eat that much now without his stomach hurting. He knew he should stop indulging, knew that when he went back to being starved that it would hurt so much more while his stomach shrunk again, but he just couldn’t bring himself to refuse what was offered.

And after he and Grantaire had eaten their fill, they would be allowed to rest until later in the afternoon, when either Dr. Combeferre or Dr. Joly would come to check on them. Enjolras resolved to offer to hold Grantaire a little closer than usual before that visit; while the physical therapist was very careful not to touch either of them unless necessary, this morning it had been necessary when Grantaire had stumbled on his final lap of the hall. Grantaire had not wanted to talk about it, but Enjolras had not missed how he had flinched and then froze when it happened, and he knew Grantaire would be dreading being touched more later in the day, no matter how brief or routine that touch was. 

Except that when Enjolras did part the curtain, neither Jehan nor Éponine were to be found. Instead, Master Lesgle was sitting alone on the couch, reading a book, his phone in his lap like he didn’t want to miss a message. Enjolras’s mind went blank with panic, but he forced himself to breathe until he could think again. Had Master Lesgle grown angry that Jehan wasn’t sharing him or Grantaire and done something horrible to them and Éponine to get a turn? Enjolras breathed a little more, until he felt certain this was another Irrational Fear. 

Master Lesgle came, usually with Mistress Musichetta, every few days, bringing back whatever of Enjolras and Grantaire’s he had washed, and sometimes clean clothes for Jehan and Éponine as well. Enjolras wasn’t awake every time, but whenever he was, Master Lesgle appeared to get along perfectly well with Jehan and Éponine, who had never even threatened to throw him out, something only a few people could still say about themselves. The only strange thing about those visits was knowing someone else was doing the laundry, even if Enjolras knew it wasn’t really possible for him to do it in the hospital.

But in any event, Enjolras would’ve been woken if there had been a physical struggle, and if Jehan had been compelled to leave in a way other than force, they could’ve simply yelled to alert Enjolras, who would’ve done his best to follow. Whatever Jehan was planning to do, they had never broken a promise, and they had promised not to separate him from Grantaire. That was also something only a few people could say. 

Enjolras let his hand drop, thankful Master Lesgle had not noticed him. Having a clearer head only helped so much; he still had no idea what to do. Jehan let him ask questions, and not only did they never punish Enjolras for asking, they almost always answered in a way he could understand. Would Master Lesgle be the same way? Something was obviously wrong and knowing what that was could potentially be worth a punishment, but he couldn’t make that assessment without asking, and it was an awful catch-22. Enjolras thought Grantaire might find it amusing if the situation wasn’t so real and awful. 

Enjolras wondered if he should wake Grantaire, not to have him smile a little at the joke, but to ask his opinion. He still felt guilty about disturbing Grantaire from his well-earned slumber, but the uncertainty meant they might need to react quickly, and it would be better if Grantaire were already alert if it came to that. He did give in and lay still for a few more minutes, trying to memorize every bit of sensation. Something horrible was going to happen and ruin everything. That particular fear was completely rational.

Finally, Enjolras made himself twist and press soft kisses to Grantaire’s forehead until the other man’s eyes fluttered open. He looked sleepy at first, until he saw Enjolras’s expression. Enjolras was afraid to say anything, to shatter the silence that was keeping them safe for the moment, so he reached back for the curtain and moved it enough for Grantaire to see. 

Grantaire’s head swiveled as he looked for Jehan or Éponine, and he went white when they weren’t there. He stared down at the bed and then back at Enjolras, lost and scared. He hesitated and then shuffled closer and tilted his head so that they could both talk directly into the other’s ears and remain as quiet as possible. “What do you want to do?” Grantaire asked. His breath was even more ticklish this way, the whole position even more intimate, and Enjolras couldn’t even enjoy it, and he didn’t even know why he couldn’t.

Before he could think it through, he had clambered out of bed and demanded, “What’s going on?” The effect was probably diminished by the way he clutched the bedside table for support and by the way his voice wavered. But it was apparently not so diminished, since Master Lesgle jumped, pages of his book bending as it hit the floor, plastic case popping off his phone as it clattered across to Enjolras’s feet. 

He knew he should grab it, he knew it would be a useful bargaining chip since he was being so bad, but even looking at it made him dizzy, so Enjolras kicked it away as gently as he could, back towards Master Lesgle, who was fixing his book. “I didn’t realize you were awake, Enjolras,” he said as he easily snapped his phone case back into place. “I’m very sorry I scared you.”

“Where is Jehan?” Enjolras managed to ask once Grantaire had slid across the bed far enough to fist the back of his sweater. He wanted to climb back in to bed and shut the curtain and pretend none of this had happened, but he needed to know.

Master Lesgle faltered. “Jehan is talking to everyone else right now. They’ll be here to explain soon.” Enjolras fumbled for the bottle with his anti-nausea medication, struggling to get the child-proof cap off. What was happening that Jehan needed to talk to everyone at once about? Maybe they all really were upset Jehan wasn’t sharing the two of them. Grantaire’s hold on him tightened. “Enjolras, I promise they’re not angry or upset with you. No one is. Jehan just thinks it would be best to explain what’s happening themselves. Now, why don’t you get back in bed? We’ll have lunch in a little bit if they’re not back by then.”

Enjolras stared at the floor and then finally obeyed. He remained sitting on the edge, though, rather than laying back down, and Grantaire still held his sweater. Master Lesgle sent a text and then returned to his book, glancing up and smiling at Enjolras every other page or so. Time seemed to drag on interminably, though Enjolras guessed that was just his perception; it had probably only been a few minutes. 

Master Lesgle started checking his phone each time he looked up, and he eventually stood to order lunch. Enjolras didn’t know if they really had Jehan’s permission to eat, but it probably didn’t matter, since his stomach was too unsettled to even entertain the idea. The guilt was back now, since that meant Grantaire wouldn’t eat either, but Enjolras knew that if he tried to eat in this state, Grantaire would stop him anyway. 

It turned out to be a non-issue since, as soon as Master Lesgle sat back down, Jehan opened the door as little as possible and slipped in. Enjolras felt slightly comforted, until Master de Courfeyrac followed them. Grantaire let out a soft whine, and Enjolras moved to block as much of his body from view as possible, though he knew it would do little good if Master de Courfeyrac really did mean to take them. He wanted to believe that wasn’t going to happen, but Jehan looked distinctly unhappy, and Master de Courfeyrac looked distinctly irritated. 

Master Lesgle stood from the couch, tucking his book under his arm and sliding his phone back into this pocket. He pulled Jehan into a one-armed hug and clapped Master de Courfeyrac on the shoulder and then slid out. Enjolras was more prepared this time and tried to peek out into the hall; he had expected to see everyone gathered there, but he only saw Dr. Combeferre and two police officers. 

“I’m very sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, Enjolras. I didn’t mean to upset you like this.” Enjolras kept staring at the floor and then, when Jehan said nothing else, he twisted so that he could kneel, so that he could be a good boy, so that maybe Jehan would keep them; it would be better to get off the bed and down on the floor, but Enjolras wanted Grantaire to get as much rest as possible. 

“Enjolras, do you remember how I promised we would tell you when the police arrested your captor?” 

Enjolras looked up, too stunned to remember he was trying to be a good boy. Grantaire’s hand abruptly released his sweater and dropped to the bed with a soft sound. He thought he should feel something, but he just felt…numb. The thought that Master wasn’t out there, just waiting to find them and take them back, was absurd; Jehan might as well have proclaimed the sun would no longer rise in the morning or set in the evening. He turned to look at Grantaire, who was staring blankly up at the ceiling, lost in his own world. 

“You’re – you’re going to keep us?” Enjolras felt stupid for asking this question for the umpteenth time, and his voice sounded strange and high in his ears, but he had to be sure. He had to. 

“Yes, Enjolras, I promise I’m going to keep both of you,” Jehan said, just as soft and gentle as the first time they had answered that question. “I know this day is very different from what any of us expected, but I promise I’m keeping you.” Enjolras nodded automatically, but he didn’t feel much better or any safer like he normally did when Jehan reassured him. 

“Enjolras, Grantaire, could you both sit up normally when you’re ready? Some things are going to happen that I want to explain first.” Enjolras almost obeyed Master de Courfeyrac without thinking, but he caught himself at the last moment and looked up at Jehan for confirmation. They smiled and nodded at him, so he untucked his legs until he was sitting the way he had been when they had first come in. 

Grantaire remained completely still for so long that a little piece of the numbness was pushed out by growing terror, but while Jehan still looked angry and Master de Courfeyrac still looked irritated, both of them were somehow also patient. There was a knock on the door and a police officer poked his head in, only to pull it right back out when Master de Courfeyrac instantly rounded on him, hissing something Enjolras couldn’t hear, though he could see the officer looked properly chastised when the door was closed again. He and Grantaire were being slow and recalcitrant, but Master de Courfeyrac was actually irritated with the police and not either of them? Absolutely nothing was making any sense.

The encounter had jarred Grantaire out of wherever he was wandering in his mind, and he slowly pulled himself up to sit next to Enjolras, though he looked so downtrodden, Enjolras thought a light breeze would knock him back over and pin him down. 

“We promise we’re here for you, no matter what,” Jehan said in their soothing tone, but Enjolras could have hardly imagined a more terrifying preamble for whatever was to come. 

“OK, first things first, bail is not even going to be an option, and while I don’t know the exact brand of shit the defense is going to try to pull out of their collective ass, there’s no way this guy is getting out of jail for years. You don’t need to worry,” said Master de Courfeyrac, looking specifically at Enjolras, but Enjolras had no idea what he wanted, he only knew that he still felt numb. It didn’t really seem to matter where Master was, since Jehan was keeping them, but maybe they were glad Master wouldn’t come try to steal them. 

Master de Courfeyrac took a deep breath to steady himself, and then his tone shifted to the less friendly one he reserved to make the two of them cooperate. “Because of the lack of direct physical evidence, the police need you to identify him.” Enjolras wondered how much trouble he would be in if he threw up after taking his medication meant to prevent specifically that, especially now that Master Lesgle was not there to vouch that he had, in fact, taken it. “Combeferre managed to convince the police that you weren’t in a state to be taken to the police station to look at a line-up, so two officers are going to show you a bunch of pictures and ask you to tell them which one of them is your captor.”

Master de Courfeyrac stopped talking but from the way he was looking between them and Jehan, Enjolras knew there was more. “Enjolras,” Jehan finally said when Master de Courfeyrac did not continue, “the police want each of you to do the identification without influencing the other.” Enjolras’s felt even closer to being sick. Jehan had promised so many times this wouldn’t happen. He grabbed Grantaire’s wrist.

“Jehan convinced them you would never cooperate if they took you to separate rooms,” and Enjolras was instantly relieved that Jehan hadn’t lied. He shouldn’t take too much comfort in that, since Jehan could change their mind whenever they wanted, but after so long without any outside support, it was a hard to deny himself. 

“Enjolras, would you feel comfortable enough sitting on the couch while Grantaire stays in bed? We’ll close the curtain so Grantaire can’t see while the officers sit with you, but then you’ll be able to watch when they’re with Grantaire. Would that be alright? We can do it another way if it’s not.”

Enjolras studied the floor, hoping their patience would last while he thought. Jehan’s suggestion did sound good, but he was afraid to agree out of hand, but the longer he thought, the longer it seemed like the best option. He ideally would’ve liked to have reversed the order, but that would mean there would be people near Grantaire and he would be unable to watch. He looked at Grantaire to see if agreed, not wanting to speak for both of them on this particular issue but, while Grantaire had sat up as ordered, he still had that thousand-yard stare that meant he was somewhere far, far away.

Enjolras knew Grantaire could still obey basic orders whenever he was in that state, and he hated that he knew that, but he had no idea if Grantaire could process the task ahead of them. It didn’t sound that complex, but it was a lot different from what Grantaire had done before. But since little but time would snap Grantaire back into reality, there was nothing he could do but say, “Please don’t be angry with Grantaire.” The man in question did not stir.

For reasons Enjolras still couldn’t fathom, Jehan didn’t always know quite what he meant when he said things like that, but this was so obvious that they did. “Shh, no, Enjolras. We’re not going to be angry with either of you. You’re both being so, so brave, and you’ll have as much time as you need. There’s no rush.” Master de Courfeyrac huffed and shot a glare at the door, even as he went to open after Enjolras nodded.

Enjolras tuned out the conversation in the hall as he shakily stood up and turned to Grantaire. With some gentle prodding, he managed to get Grantaire to sit back in bed and tuck his knees under his chin. Enjolras shifted him until Grantaire had a blanket wrapped securely around his entire body, tucking the end in under his feet. It stung that Grantaire didn’t even look at him as he shut the curtain and shuffled away to the couch, even though he knew Grantaire wasn’t really conscious of what was happening. Once the police left, Enjolras could hold him close for as long as it took. 

He settled himself on the couch under Jehan’s gaze, and the sensation was so odd that he had to take deep breaths and close his eyes to keep from sliding to the floor. Jehan never punished him for kneeling, but they didn’t seem to particularly like it either. Enjolras really was trying to learn their preferences, but it was hard when they were so strange. Jehan rewarded him with a smile when he opened his eyes. 

Master de Courfeyrac returned with two police officers, one of them holding an odd-looking folder in his hands. They introduced themselves, but Enjolras didn’t really hear what they said, his heart starting to race as one sat down close enough to touch him and the other made to walk around behind the sofa, but Jehan fluttered over and directed them away, only satisfied when the officer with the folder was standing in front of Enjolras, but out of reach, and the other was off to side, several paces away. He still felt hemmed in, but it was an improvement. Jehan hovered nearby, and Master de Courfeyrac was glowering in the corner.

The officer in front of Enjolras held up the strange folder. The cover had a small square missing from it. “Now, Enjolras, I’m going to start showing you pictures one by one, and I want you to tell me yes or no, was that the man who hurt you, for each one. I won’t show you the next one until I get an answer for the current one.”

Enjolras stared at the folder, afraid for the cover to move and reveal the first person. He wasn’t sure if he should respond, but Master de Courfeyrac quickly added, “Enjolras, you can have as much time as you need, and you can take a break from the whole thing if it’s too much. Just tell me, and we’ll stop right away.” Master de Courfeyrac shot a pointed look at the second officer, who tried to return it but chose to look at Enjolras instead after a few seconds. Enjolras wanted to get the whole thing over as fast as possible, if only to get back to Grantaire as fast as possible, but it was comforting to know he wouldn’t be pushed into having a breakdown. 

The officer with the folder began to slide the cover, holding it in place while Enjolras studied each person. A lot of them did remind him of Master, and he wondered if that was on purpose, but he didn’t doubt they were nothing but look-alikes. When the cover finally slid over a slot to reveal Master himself, Enjolras almost didn’t recognize him. He thought it might be a cropped version of Master’s mug shot, since Master looked worn and tired, his hair unkempt and dark circles under his eyes. It was so different, in fact, that Enjolras didn’t even feel afraid or distressed. The numbness from earlier descended back over him as he nodded. The second officer made a note, and then the whole group moved over to the bed, though Jehan left the curtain shut until they had once again arranged everyone to their liking.

Enjolras watched the proceedings play out for a second time, and while he was relieved to see Grantaire focused enough to obey, he felt detached from everything else; maybe this was a lesser version of what Grantaire felt. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, just odd, though Enjolras could easily imagine it growing more comfortable the more times he felt this way. He had never judged Grantaire’s coping mechanisms, but now he understood why sometimes Grantaire just…checked out. 

But he couldn’t let himself get distracted like this, no matter how soothing it was. Enjolras pinched his arm until it ached and he felt more connected to reality, forcing himself to focus on how in just a few minutes he would be back with Grantaire, and they could cuddle together and sleep. 

The officers were just making some final notes and Enjolras had perched up on the edge of the couch, just waiting for Jehan’s permission to get up, when Master Lesgle poked his head in, caught Jehan’s attention, and mimed eating, shrugging apologetically as he did so. Had he planned to have lunch delivered and then not let Enjolras and Grantaire eat it? Jehan had never done that, even went out of their way to bring the two of them treats when neither of them had done anything in particular to earn them, and it seemed odd Master Lesgle would tell Jehan his foiled plan. 

Either way, the officers went out into the hall, deep in conversation with Master de Courfeyrac, and Jehan went to collect the food. Enjolras caught another glimpse of Dr. Combeferre and couldn’t bear to wait any longer, scurrying over to the bed and climbing in next to Grantaire, who was still not really present. Enjolras took his hand and squeezed gently, trying not to be too disappointed when Grantaire did not return it. There would only be a short visit from one of the doctors, but otherwise Enjolras had the rest of the day for comforting Grantaire. He could be patient.

Jehan sat on the sofa while the two of them ate, as usual, but they seemed to almost be vibrating with energy. They must still be annoyed from the police visit, and as long as Enjolras was good, Jehan wouldn’t take that annoyance out on him. 

Enjolras was not surprised he finished his meal first, and he then began coaxing Grantaire to clean his plate as gently as he could. He wanted desperately to know what was wrong, but even if Grantaire was in a state to tell him, he couldn’t ask with Jehan watching so closely. He sighed a bit in relief when Grantaire finished; it was a start. 

He looked up when Jehan didn’t come clear away their dishes right away like they normally did, and he flinched when he saw Dr. Combeferre sitting on the couch next to them. Had he been that absorbed in his task that he hadn’t heard him come in? Enjolras shuddered. That might have been the most frightening part of the day. 

“Hello, Enjolras,” Dr. Combeferre said, perfectly even and polite. Maybe his schedule had changed and he wanted to check on them earlier today; even as Enjolras thought this, he knew it wasn’t true. “I know today has already been really stressful, but there are some things that need to happen now.” 

Enjolras fought the urge to hide in the bathroom again. He knew it wouldn’t work and could only make things worse, but he also wished he hadn’t eaten. Dr. Combeferre fidgeted with his glasses before he continued. “Joly and I are both agreed that the two of you are well enough to be discharged. Actually, you’ve been well enough for some time, but we thought-” Enjolras never got to find out what they thought, since Jehan nudged Dr. Combeferre with their elbow. 

“Enjolras, ever since the police made the arrest, the media has taken a renewed interest in your case. The police are about to have a press conference to announce you’ve positively identified the suspect, and we’d like to take you home now, when no one is going to be wandering the hospital, trying to catch a glimpse of you. I can’t even imagine how hard this is, but we think it will be for the best.”

“And I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but there are risks associated with lengthy hospital stays. Joly and I want to make sure you aren’t inadvertently exposed to something here that makes you sick again. You can get all the care you need at home at this point, in a better environment.” 

The numbness was back again; Enjolras wondered if it was his mind protecting him from what he wasn’t ready to cope with. While he had gotten better at adapting to what Jehan wanted, the hospital was such a specific context, he felt like he would be starting from square one when they left. He knew he would not be hurt and Grantaire would not be touched while they remained here; everything was about to change.

“Please, Grantaire’s still not well,” he pleaded with Jehan. Surely both they and Dr. Combeferre could see Grantaire was not himself, was still ill. Neither of them needed to know this wasn’t anything new, that Grantaire was perfectly able to be used while in this state. Enjolras needed to make them believe that wasn’t the case.

“I promise Grantaire will get whatever mental health resources he needs,” said Dr. Combeferre firmly, “but it will be better for him to get them at home.” 

“No, please,” he repeated, but Jehan and Dr. Combeferre were unmoved, and Enjolras couldn’t think of anything more eloquent to say.

“Enjolras, I know this is incredibly difficult, but nothing bad is going to happen. We’re going to have both of you bundle up and then we’ll go out to a taxi and drive to the apartment. As soon as we get there, you can go to your room and stay there as long as you want. No one is going to hurt either of you.” Enjolras bit his lip and managed to only choke instead of sob. 

“Do you want to close the curtain and take your gowns off?” Dr. Combeferre asked. Enjolras wished they could go into the bathroom instead for more privacy, but Grantaire wouldn’t be afforded that luxury because of Enjolras’s previous stupidity. 

Just before he closed the curtain, Jehan added, “You can put your clothes back on when you’re done.” Enjolras flinched. He should be relieved Jehan had given permission for what he was going to do anyway, but it frightened him that he hadn’t even considered it might not be allowed. Just how many bad habits had he built in the hospital?

Enjolras turned to Grantaire, who looked just as vacant as before; when he made no move to obey, Enjolras slowly reached out to pull his hoodie off. He didn’t want to do something as intimate as undress Grantaire when he was in such a state, but there was a sense of urgency that meant they probably weren’t going to get unlimited time to obey this order. As soon as Enjolras got the hoodie off, hindered by Grantaire’s uncooperative limbs, Grantaire blinked and his eyes went in and out of focus. Enjolras waited, not sure what else to do. 

“I asked you to promise,” Grantaire finally croaked, and though he was staring off into the distance still, his eyes were clear. 

“What?” Enjolras asked stupidly. He tried to quickly recall what Grantaire was talking about. “No!” he said fiercely when he made the connection. “I’m not leaving you. I promise. Jehan said we can stay together.” He pulled Grantaire in close for a hug. 

“But we’re leaving,” Grantaire protested, voice muffled, “everything’s going to be like before.”

“No, it’s not.” It was hard to for Enjolras to keep his voice down. “We know we love each other now. And I – I’m going to do a better job taking care of you, whatever happens. I promise. I love you.”

“Please don’t say things you don’t mean,” Grantaire said miserably. 

“I’m not.” Enjolras gently squeezed Grantaire and then reluctantly let go to change himself. He looked away to give Grantaire his privacy and was relieved that he put Enjolras’s hoodie back on of his own accord. When Enjolras re-opened the curtain, he wass surprised to find Master Bahorel in the room, sorting a pile of outerwear drawn from a black garbage bag with Jehan. Had Enjolras always had tunnel vision this badly without even knowing? 

He only managed to get out of my bed when Dr. Combeferre beckoned them over, and he couldn’t stop his legs from shaking slightly. He kept a firm grip on Grantaire and stood out of reach. It wasn’t long before Jehan handed him and Grantaire each a pair of bib snowpants. Enjolras reluctantly let go of Grantaire to put them on. “I’m sorry they probably won’t fit the best,” Master Bahorel said, “I grabbed whatever I could find in neutral colors.”

“Boring colors,” sighed Jehan, as they surveyed a pile of heavy coats.

“We already brought your regular winter coats to the apartment,” Dr. Combeferre explained as Enjolras and Grantaire dutifully put on their next layer. “Joly and I agreed you haven’t regained enough body fat for them to be warm enough for you yet.” Enjolras couldn’t help but wonder why any of them cared how warm they were, even as he struggled clumsily with the coat’s zipper, feeling like a child that hadn’t developed its fine motor skills yet. Grantaire seemed to be having more trouble, and Enjolras had to do his coat for him. He wondered belatedly if Grantaire was playing it up a little bit, but he didn’t mind it if he were.

Next, Jehan passed them each a set of boots, which were easier to put on than Enjolras had expected, since they were so loose, almost to the point of discomfort. Dr. Combeferre frowned a little as he watched, but it cleared when Master Bahorel patted him on the back and gave him a look that clearly meant something, even if Enjolras didn’t understand what. Scarves and hats followed, and they looked familiar, and Enjolras thought maybe Jehan had made them, though why they would waste time making something for him and Grantaire? 

Overall, Enjolras felt strange and bulky but not unpleasant; he would certainly be warm, even if left outside for quite some time, and it would be a lot of work for anyone to touch Grantaire, with so many layers in the way. He froze when Jehan extended a pair of mittens over their shoulder in his direction. He knew objectively it wasn’t at all like what Master had done to him, but he really was going to throw up if he had to put them on. 

“Enjolras?” Jehan asked, turning to look at him, and now Dr. Combeferre and Master Bahorel were watching him as well, and he wished he could pull himself into his coat like a turtle and hide. Had Master Lesgle told one of them Enjolras had touched his phone, even if it was just to push it away? Had one of them guessed Enjolras had dared to think of picking it up? He wondered who was hyperventilating so loud before he realized it was him. 

He managed to look at Grantaire, whose gaze was flicking between all three masters, obviously unsure what to do, with whom to plead, when Jehan simply stuffed the mittens back in the garbage bag and dug around in it, until they pulled out a few chemical handwarmers. They broke two of them and indicated Enjolras should put one in each of his coat pockets. “I’m sorry,” they said softly. “You don’t have to wear mittens if you don’t want to, Enjolras. Just put your hands in your pockets and hold on to those when we go outside.” Enjolras wanted to refuse, but then Grantaire shuffled close enough to put his hand into the pocket with Enjolras’s, and he held his tongue when Jehan smiled at the sight instead of reprimanding them.

Master Bahorel started packing all the unused clothing back into the bag and then went to the bathroom to retrieve the bin there. Master de Courfeyrac poked his head back in, and then all of a sudden he and Dr. Combeferre and Master Bahorel and Jehan were ushering them down the hall and back to the elevator. Enjolras clutched Grantaire’s hand as tightly as he dared. As they piled into the elevator, he realized he hadn’t paid attention to the route there from their room, and he also realized it didn’t matter anymore. It was all happening so fast, and he felt a little dizzy.

“You’re doing really well,” Jehan praised, but Enjolras just stared at the ground as the elevator softly pinged through the floors. He stopped doing really well as soon as they got to the doors outside. 

Enjolras could see the taxi idling just outside, pulled up as close to the curb as possible. It would be an incredibly short walk, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he had gone outside. He wriggled his hand in the coat pocket until his thumb was resting on Grantaire’s wrist and he could feel his pulse beating steadily underneath it. 

“Enjolras, we’re going to go right to the taxi, alright?” Jehan coaxed, not understanding. “You don’t have to stay outside any longer than it takes to walk there.” Grantaire was watching Enjolras from the corner of his eye, and Enjolras finally stumbled forward, not wanting anyone to hurt Grantaire to punish him. 

The cold took his breath away as the automatic doors slid open, despite all his layers, and he wondered how he had ever survived his punishments outside. He had been nearly broken when Grantaire was dying, but how many times had Grantaire probably saved his life, without ever mentioning the stress it caused him? He vowed to think of a way to tell Grantaire how much it meant to him, in a way that wouldn’t upset the other man. 

Master de Courfeyrac got into the front seat of the taxi, immediately striking up a conversation with the driver. Dr. Combeferre walked around to the far side, and Jehan slipped into the middle. Enjolras forced himself to momentarily release Grantaire in order to swap positions, so that when they got in, Enjolras was next to Jehan instead; it was probably uncomfortable, but he smooshed Grantaire against the inside of the door, keeping him as far away from the masters as possible. He tried not to think about the last time he had been in a car.

Instead, Enjolras tried to focus on the route the taxi took from the hospital, in case something happened to Grantaire again, but they were moving so fast it felt like flying, and Enjolras didn’t think he would be able to walk the route in reverse with any success. There were so many streets and landmarks and people and color and noise, and all he managed to do was give himself a headache. He resigned himself to once again not really knowing where he was and turned to Grantaire instead. He couldn’t say anything, but he tried to pour all his love and affection into that one look; Grantaire looked away before long, but he was blushing faintly. 

After what could have been five minutes or five hours, the taxi stopped in front of an older stone building. Dr. Combeferre got out and went around to Master de Courfeyrac’s window, and the two of them started haggling with the driver over the price, though it sounded like the driver actually wanted less than what they were offering. Jehan looked at Enjolras until he finally opened the other door and pushed Grantaire out, back into the cold. He was glad for the hand warmers. 

Jehan led them to the front door, and Master de Courfeyrac and Dr. Combeferre came up behind Enjolras as they were fussing with their keys. Enjolras pulled Grantaire close; his only hope was they could make it to the apartment and the room Jehan had promised before anyone touched him. 

There was no elevator, and it took a long time for Enjolras and Grantaire to climb the stairs up several floors. Enjolras was worried Jehan would think one or both of them were stalling for time, but they just smiled encouragingly whenever Enjolras dared to look. He felt exhausted and weak and winded by the time Jehan led them down a hall to their apartment, but not too exhausted and weak and winded to not feel scared. Jehan took out another key and unlocked the door, and if Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac hadn’t been right behind him, Enjolras would’ve used that opportunity to pick Grantaire up and flee.


	35. Chapter Thirty-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad the Founding Fathers committed treason so that I could spend today writing 6K words about Americanized versions of fictional French characters. Now that's what I call independence.

Despite Enjolras’s building panic, there was nothing inherently frightening in the apartment. There was an open-plan family room that bled into a breakfast nook and then a kitchen, divided from the tiny foyer area by a breakfast bar. There was a small balcony off the family room, and Enjolras quickly looked away, not wanting to think about it, though it was so covered with pots and gardening tools that there would hardly be room for him. 

In fact, there were so many plants growing all over the family room in a variety of containers, not all of which looked like they had originally been designed for their current purpose, that Enjolras wasn’t sure how easy access to the balcony would even be. He continued to study the rooms from under his eyelashes, but he couldn’t see anything horrible. The only thing that really struck him as odd were a few slightly discolored patches on the wall, like whatever had been hanging in those spots had recently been removed.

Enjolras knew he should’ve started to calm down, but the pressure in his chest remained; assuming he and Grantaire were hidden away, Master’s house would’ve looked perfectly normal and unassuming to visitors, if there had been any. Just because he couldn’t see anything that could be used to hurt him or Grantaire, it didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. 

“Would the two of you like to take off all your winter layers?” Jehan asked gently. “We’ll just put them in the coat closet for the next time we go outside.” Enjolras went to remove his hands from his pockets, and he realized belatedly he had been once again crushing Grantaire’s fingers; he wanted to apologize but didn’t dare, in case Jehan saw and forbade Enjolras from ever holding Grantaire’s hand again. 

Enjolras began to comply with Jehan’s order, though he was slow and awkward. It felt like the first few showers he had taken, when he was so out of practice that he needed to slowly think through each individual step. He had just caught himself trying to struggle out of his snowpants until he realized his boots were in the way when he noticed Grantaire was standing perfectly still and staring at the ground. The entryway was so small that Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac were effectively trapped between them and the door. Even though Enjolras was fairly certain Jehan wanted him and Grantaire to leave their regular clothes on, as strange as that was, he could only imagine what stripping off any layers with Master de Courfeyrac all but breathing down his neck would do to Grantaire. 

Enjolras finally got his own clothes off, and Jehan smiled at him as they put everything neatly away in the coat closet, apparently pleased that Enjolras still had socks and pajama pants and a sweater on. Enjolras pulled Grantaire to him, making a large enough gap for Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac to squeeze through and waited. “Ah, we’ll just be in the kitchen,” Dr. Combeferre said, pulling Master de Courfeyrac past. Grantaire started trembling when they were gone. 

Jehan looked a little sad, but then they said, “I’m just going to see if they need anything. Enjolras, can you put Grantaire’s things away like I did with yours?” Enjolras nodded immediately. Even if he did it wrong, the blame would shift from Grantaire to him. Grantaire started to shake a little more. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, fingers fumbling with his coat zipper. “Sorry, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Enjolras helped Grantaire out of his coat and hung it next to where Jehan had put his. It felt strange to have things and to take care of them, but he supposed they really belonged to Master Bahorel, and he would want them back in the same. “I should’ve realized right away.”

“You wouldn’t have time to do anything but realize things if you did that,” Grantaire said morosely, even as he let Enjolras take his hat and scarf and put them in a repurposed plastic flower pot. Grantaire managed to toe off his boots and wriggle out of his snowpants on his own. As Grantaire wrestled the straps of the snowpants onto the loops of a hanger, Enjolras took a step back to give him a little space and realized with a burst of adrenaline that the apartment door was unlocked and unguarded. 

It was awful he hadn’t noticed it when they were still dressed, but before he could get Grantaire to at least put his boots back on, Jehan rematerialized. Enjolras felt a little sick that he and Grantaire had missed their chance because he hadn’t been paying enough attention. He took Grantaire’s hand in his and squeezed gently in apology; there was no way either of them could outrun Jehan. 

“Would you like to go see your room now? I know this has been a lot to take in all at once. You can rest and then we’ll have dinner later, alright?”

Enjolras no longer knew what Jehan wanted or what he should do, and he was terrified of seeing whatever room had been assigned to them, but he could hear Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac talking quietly in the kitchen, and that was even worse. He pulled Grantaire close and then shuffled after Jehan down a short hallway. There was a bathroom on the right side and two doors on the left, one of which led into a bedroom filled with even more plants and a very garish color scheme. There were personal effects scattered all over, and Enjolras assumed this must be the room Jehan and Éponine were sharing.

Jehan stopped in front of the second door and held out two keys. Enjolras had assumed Jehan was going to lock them in, though he didn’t understand why they needed to carry both keys at once, or why they needed to frighten Enjolras by flaunting them. Being locked in a room with Grantaire was hardly that frightening, given everything else he expected to endure in short order. Jehan stayed like that for awhile, but they finally softened. “Enjolras, this is a private space for you and Grantaire. No one is going to come in unless you ask them or there’s an emergency. These are for you.” 

Enjolras’s hand trembled as reached out and took the keys. He didn’t understand why it was bad to lock himself in the bathroom in the hospital, but now that they had left, they were going to be allowed to lock themselves into a bedroom. He assumed Jehan must have a spare key somewhere, and that this was only an illusion of security. Either way though, Grantaire had sagged a little in his grip. Enjolras could only guess what he was thinking, but he slipped the keys into the pouch of Grantaire’s hoodie; he didn’t want Grantaire to think he would slip away without him again. 

Jehan opened the door and waved the two of them in. “Éponine and I did our best to arrange everything, but this is all yours, and you can do whatever you like with it. If there’s something else you want, we can ask Combeferre where it is or go out and buy it. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” They smiled gently and padded away. 

Enjolras was both afraid to go into the room and to stay in the hall, but he knew Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac were still around, so he pulled Grantaire inside and barely restrained himself from slamming the door. He retrieved one of the keys from Grantaire’s hoodie pouch, trying to touch the other man as little as possible, and locked the door. He grabbed Grantaire’s wrist just to be sure he had him before he forced himself to turn around. 

Just like the rest of the apartment, their room was entirely…normal. There was a queen bed made up in one corner, with enough space for a nightstand between it and the wall, which clashed horribly with its ostensible mate. A veritable mountain of blankets was piled up neatly at the foot, on top of a deep red comforter. There was a window above the bed, with a set of regular curtains and one of black-out curtains pulled back, giving a view of a brick wall across an alley. 

There was a closet across from the bed, the doors opened to reveal an absurd amount of clothes, divided roughly down the middle between him and Grantaire. There was a short dresser tucked into some free wall space, and it had another set of bedding folded neatly on top, though that comforter was black and much smaller than what was on the bed. In one spare corner, there was a bookcase, though its shelves were empty.

The other had a small desk, which Grantaire was staring at, drawn and pale. Enjolras hated that he hadn’t noticed right away, whatever Grantaire might say in deflection. He squeezed Grantaire’s hand before letting go. The desk looked solid enough but turned out to be fairly light; he rolled the chair out of the way and got the desk turned around without too much effort. Before pushing it flush with the wall, he removed the drawers and set them on the floor. Once the desk was in place and the chair was set on top of it to save space, he carried the drawers to the door and leaned them up against it, in a row. He thought he might sleep through someone quietly unlocking the door, but not through the drawers being knocked over. It would only work one time, but he was uncertain that there was no time like the present.

Once he felt safer, he went back to Grantaire, who hadn’t moved. When Grantaire said nothing, he asked, “Is that better? I don’t think it would fit in the closet, but I’ll try if you want.”

“Sorry,” Grantaire repeated from earlier, but offered nothing else. Enjolras wondered if he could break the desk, but he had no tools to disassemble it, and there didn’t appear to be anything heavy enough in the room to simply destroy it. He took a deep breath to keep from hurting himself and trying to rip the desk apart with his bare hands anyway, and instead asked Grantaire, “Can I give you a hug?”

He assumed Master had probably tried to ruin everything for Grantaire, and while they had cuddled closer and closer in their hospital bed, they were now both standing and in an entirely new environment. Grantaire finally turned away from the desk and, while he looked to be struggling with some internal conflict, he still said nothing. Enjolras reached out slowly to touch Grantaire’s elbows, keeping it light enough that Grantaire could easily shrug him off if he wanted. Grantaire continued to do and say nothing, so Enjolras shuffled in closer bit by bit, until they were standing very close.

Finally, Grantaire tipped his forehead to rest on Enjolras’s shoulder. “I’ll sleep in the closet,” he mumbled. 

“What? No!” Enjolras made himself stop. “Do you not want to sleep…by each other any longer?” It would be like it had been, long ago in the beginning, so long ago Enjolras rarely ever thought about it, when they hadn’t shared the quilt or slept holding hands. But Grantaire had been the one to be violated over and over and over, and if he wanted his own space for sleeping, Enjolras needed to respect that. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep wherever you want.”

“I-I can’t,” Grantaire said, truly miserable. “The hospital was – it was different. I don’t know why. But that’s – I just can’t.” While the hospital bed had been far more comfortable than a concrete floor, Enjolras had to agree it had felt entirely different. 

“That’s fine. I understand. Where – where do you want to sleep?” 

“I don’t care.” Grantaire shrugged. “You choose first. I can sleep wherever there’s room.”

Enjolras swallowed and stared at the corner until he felt like he had regained his composure. “Did I do something wrong?” It was a terribly selfish question and he knew he should save it for later, when Grantaire was less upset, but he tried to tell himself he needed to know now so he could correct his behavior. 

Grantaire picked his head up in surprise, before slowly setting it back down. “No.” It was just one word, but if there was any hate in it, Enjolras didn’t think it was directed at him.

“My preference would be to continue our previous sleeping arrangement,” Enjolras said after some thought. “Or closer, if you would like.”

“You really want that?” asked Grantaire, sincerely, like he really didn’t know the answer. 

“Yes, but only if you do.”

Grantaire trembled a bit in his arms but eventually he only said, “We could sleep between the bed and the wall. We would be hidden.”

“Of course.” Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s arms and waited for him to raise his head before stepping away. He surveyed the situation. It made him a little nervous to remove the comforter from the bed, but he was going to need the blankets stacked there anyway. He set the blankets aside and folded the comforter’s edges until it fit into the gap Grantaire had suggested. He picked out the thickest blankets in the pile and layered them on top; when he laid down, he found it relatively comfortable, enough cushioning between the floor and his body that he wouldn’t lay awake as it pressed into his bones. 

He left the rest of the blankets stacked at the foot of the pallet, ready for use. He grabbed the throw pillows from the bed and put them against the wall and the frame of the bed to make a soft edge to their nest. He also took the regular pillows from the bed, wondering why they were encased in mismatched pillowcases, though the red one did feel supportive and firm to the touch, while the black was uncomfortably soft and puffy. He knelt up and turned to Grantaire, who had shuffled over to watch, though he stood as far out of the way as possible, arms wrapped around himself. 

He looked over what Enjolras had done, face blank, before saying, “Jehan didn’t say when they wanted dinner.” Enjolras could only imagine this sounded like less of a non sequitur in Grantaire’s mind that it did aloud to him. He was glad Grantaire had said it though, because he had been so absorbed in fixing their room that he had forgotten all about making dinner for Jehan. He had gotten much better at cooking for Master, since he certainly had been given enough practice, but he had no idea what Jehan would want, or Dr. Combeferre or Master de Courfeyrac if they were still there as well. 

He stared at Grantaire, who was still looking at their new sleeping space. Grantaire had almost always been dismissed in the afternoon, and while he didn’t come find Enjolras every time, he would always be waiting in the kitchen. He usually just sat silently on the floor, out of the way, but it had been something comforting to look forward to all day. None of that meant Jehan would leave Grantaire unmolested, but Enjolras wouldn’t blame Grantaire if that was a risk he was willing to take. “You can come with, Grantaire.”

Grantaire started a bit and then blushed. Enjolras pushed himself off the floor, and he suddenly felt exhausted. He wished he knew when he would be allowed to rest again, which only proved how soft the hospital had made him. The most difficult thing he had been asked to do that day was walk a little and climb some stairs. He moved the drawers away from the door and when he stepped away to let Grantaire unlock it, he turned and saw the folded comforter in the closet. 

He took it down and brought it over to the other man. When Grantaire nodded slightly, Enjolras wrapped it around his shoulders, draping it so it would remain in place without Grantaire having to hold it shut; all that remained visible were Grantaire’s lower legs and head. Enjolras, despite his efforts not to, thought Grantaire still looked cute and felt an overwhelming desire to tuck him in and lock him in and leave him in safety. He wanted to reassure Grantaire he would do something this time if anyone tried to touch him, but Grantaire seemed to need nothing now if not a sense of normalcy. 

Grantaire had left the key in the lock when Enjolras bundled him up, and Enjolras decided to leave it there; if one or both of them needed to rush back, they could get in quickly, and if Enjolras were sent back first, Grantaire would still have the spare key in his pouch. He was a little sad he couldn’t take Grantaire’s hand or wrist as they crept back to the kitchen, but he was glad of it when he found Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac at the table, coats now removed, nursing teas with Jehan. 

“Enjolras, is something wrong? Were you not comfortable?” Jehan asked when they noticed the two of them. 

“I didn’t know when you wanted dinner,” Enjolras said quietly, wishing the other masters would leave or that Éponine would come. Jehan didn’t look angry, but they took a few extra seconds to process what Enjolras said, which only happened when they didn’t understand. 

“Oh, Enjolras, no, no, no. You don’t have to cook. Musichetta made some casseroles so that no one needs to cook for a few days.” Enjolras said nothing, worrying his lip as he thought desperately. Should they just retreat to their room and pretend this never happened? Should he offer himself up to be hurt, even though Jehan had never shown any inclination to do so? He knew there was a third option, but he refused to consider it. 

Master de Courfeyrac cleared his throat and said, “If you feel up to, Ferre and I have a few things we need to discuss with you.” Enjolras was a fraction of a second from shoving Grantaire back down the hall when there was a jangling outside and Éponine came in. Her face was red and serious, though that could’ve just been from walking in the wind and cold. She took in the scene and sighed. “Enjolras, let me at least try sorting this out before you leave.”

Enjolras did not leave, watching as Éponine removed her coat and boots before coming over to the table. “I just said we need to talk,” Master de Courfeyrac said before Éponine could say anything. 

“Did you say it was about the case?” she asked, sounding more exhausted than Enjolras had ever heard her. 

“What else would-” but Master de Courfeyrac cut himself off, studying them so carefully that Enjolras pushed Grantaire behind him. Master de Courfeyrac looked wounded, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “I’m sorry,” he said very quietly, “I should’ve said. We need to talk about the arraignment.”

There was a moment and then Jehan said, “Combeferre, could you come help me water the plants?” The two of them withdrew across to the far side of the family room, and Jehan started slowly puttering around. 

“Do you want to sit down?” Éponine asked, but Enjolras shook his head. “OK, whatever you want,” but she said it sincerely. 

Master de Courfeyrac sighed and shook his head as if to clear it. “Hmm, alright, so, the arraignment is scheduled for two days from now.” He looked at Enjolras in a way Enjolras could only describe as hopeful, but he had no idea what it was hoped he would do. He had a vague notion of what arraignments were but nothing that could help him now. Éponine nudged Master de Courfeyrac under the table. 

“Alright, so the arraignment is technically so your captor knows what the charges against him are and what his bail will be. But in reality charges are never read out at arraignment, and like I already told you, he can’t get bail.” He waited for a response again, but Enjolras stayed silent. If he had ever imagined Master being caught, it was the trial he pictured. And sometimes the execution, if he was being completely honest with himself. He hadn’t even thought to factor an arraignment into these fantasies of justice, and he didn’t know he felt about it now. 

“We can request the list of charges afterwards,” continued Master de Courfeyrac after a firmer nudge from Éponine, “or wait to see which ones the grand jury returns for indictment, though I would guess they’ll be identical. I suppose the real question is if you want to attend? You’re both entitled to, as the – the court is obligated to accommodate you. The whole thing is going to be five minutes, tops, and it probably won’t make any sense, but some people find it comforting or helpful to attend anyway. But it will have no effect on the case if you don’t go. It’s entirely your choice.”

“You can talk it over somewhere else if you want,” Éponine said, and Enjolras didn’t miss the opportunity to withdraw back towards their room. He and Grantaire stared at each other.

“Do you want to go?” Enjolras asked finally. 

“I – I don’t know.” Grantaire was a bit hunched over, like he had once again wrapped his arms around himself. He sounded truly unsure this time though, rather than evasive. Enjolras felt unsure too. He didn’t know if seeing Master again would make him panic; the longer he thought about it, the angrier he felt at the thought of Master being able to look at Grantaire again, even if Grantaire were fully dressed. 

“You should go,” Grantaire said, suddenly fierce. “He should see that you’re still strong.” Enjolras didn’t feel particularly strong, but he thought he might understand what Grantaire meant. It had been so long since he had purposely defied Master, but even though their period of rest was just about over, Grantaire hadn’t been touched in weeks, and it was because of what Enjolras had done. It wasn’t that he was smug, but he felt almost…safe, knowing he had done something so, so bad he didn’t even know how to quantify it, but he could still see Master, and Master literally couldn’t punish him for it.

But he said, “I’m not leaving you.” Grantaire didn’t respond, so Enjolras edged back into the kitchen. “Can – can we go without Master seeing?”

Master de Courfeyrac made another face, but then he seemed to think about Enjolras’s question. “I would have to talk to the advocate, but I think so. He’ll be brought in from the holding cell when it’s his turn on the docket. We could slip in the back once he’s already seated and leave before he gets up. Would that make you feel comfortable?”

Grantaire had followed Enjolras and bumped him very gently with his shoulder, which Enjolras could only assume meant yes. He nodded. “Great,” said Master de Courfeyrac, springing out of his chair. “I’ll get everything arranged and let Jehan know when exactly it is.” He relocated to the family room, busy on his phone, and Enjolras almost breathed a sigh of relief, when Dr. Combeferre drifted back over.

Éponine stopped him with a glare before he could speak. She looked at Enjolras and Grantaire very intensely, before she finally said, “You’re both adults. You can do whatever you want. You can tell us, but you don’t have to ask.” She got up and stalked over to where Jehan was still tending their plants. Dr. Combeferre hesitated and then sat down at the table, turning the chair to face the hallway. Enjolras wanted to bolt, but he knew Éponine was listening, even as she half-heartedly followed Jehan around.

“This is probably going to be a more uncomfortable conversation,” said Dr. Combeferre, and if that was somehow supposed to make Enjolras feel better, it did the opposite. “I know this might be difficult, but if either of you start to feel sick again, or even if something just feels a little off, you need to let someone know so that they can call me or Joly. Neither of us anticipate any real problems, but we want to know if there are any.”

“You’ll help if Grantaire gets sick?” Enjolras blurted out before he could stop himself. He couldn’t think about all that blood without panicking, but tears welled up at the thought if something happened like that again, if Grantaire was dying, that he wouldn’t have to guess what to do, that he wouldn’t have to do it alone, that he could call for help and get it.

“We’ll help both of you,” Dr. Combeferre said solemnly, and Enjolras wasn’t sure how he remained on his feet. “I know it might sound restrictive, but we also want to continue to monitor what you eat for the time being. We wrote some things up for Jehan to reference. You can read them if you life. We just want to make sure you keep eating enough calories and getting the right nutrients. It could be a very long time before your natural hunger signals come back or that you understand them. I know this probably sounds like we’re trying to control you, but we just want to make sure you get totally well. If there’s anything special you want, you just have to ask and we can figure out a way to make it work.”

Enjolras was even more surprised. Were they not to be starved again? While he would prefer to be full instead of hungry, and it wasn’t up to him either way, he also worried how much more work would be expected in return. The apartment was much smaller than Master’s house; maybe he would be expected to cook and clean for the neighbors? He couldn’t even begin to consider what Grantaire might be asked to do. Maybe he could ask to be the only one to get full rations and then share, which would still be more than Master had let them have.

“There’s one more thing,” Dr. Combeferre said slowly. Enjolras just wanted this to end so that he and Grantaire could go curl up together and pretend like everything was alright. He didn’t think whatever Dr. Combeferre had to say would be alright, since Éponine was now openly watching them with folded arms. “We’ll obviously take you to the hospital no matter when if you need to go, but we have appointments for both of you in a few weeks. That’s when the waiting period will be up, and you can both be tested. Do you understand?” 

Enjolras didn’t, until Grantaire fled. He wondered what would happen if he tried to hurt Dr. Combeferre, even as he knew it was a bad idea, and honestly unfair. He hadn’t even considered STDs, and while he would have been surprised to find out Master had been with other men and passed something along, it was certainly possible; Enjolras knew Master hadn’t used protection with Grantaire, and while Grantaire tried to clean up the worst of it before seeing Enjolras, he didn’t feel confident saying there had never been body fluids exchanged. None of this was Grantaire’s fault, but Enjolras could only imagine how humiliated he must feel. 

Enjolras knew he should probably say something, but he turned and walked away instead. He was standing outside their still-open door, Grantaire’s tears barely audible, when Éponine came to him. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking even more tired. “No one could think of an easier way to tell you.” She shook her head. “OK, listen. I couldn’t think of an easier way to tell you this either, and I didn’t want to rely on you finding it on your own, and I have no idea what you and Grantaire are or if you even want a label, but the point is I put a bunch of tissues and the lube R liked and the condoms he liked to use with his male partners in your nightstand. I really don’t give a shit what you do, as long as it’s comfortable and safe and enjoyable for both of you. If you need more or something else, your wish is my command, it will magically appear, and no one else will know.”

Enjolras felt stunned, and he once again knew he really should say something, but he simply went into their room, shut the door, and locked it with the key that was still there. He went to the nightstand with the pretense of putting the key on it, and when he checked the drawer, he found all of the items Éponine had promised. He couldn’t imagine wanting sex with Grantaire for a very long time, and he couldn’t imagine it ever being a desire so great he needed to pursue it; he wondered if an allosexual person might feel that way, though, and that’s why Éponine had thought about. But, to be fair, while he had no idea how Grantaire felt about any of this, which was what really mattered, he knew his own desire to masturbate might return, and it would be nice to take care of himself comfortably, if he had the chance. The last thing he would want to do was frighten Grantaire.

Grantaire already seemed frightened enough, considering he was hiding in the corner of the closet. Enjolras sat down next to the desk, not wanting to make Grantaire feel trapped or cut off from the bed or the hall. “Grantaire, I’m not angry or upset.” He hadn’t meant to sound like Jehan, but they must have rubbed off on him, the number of times they had had to say those words. Grantaire only continued to cry, his head pulled inside his comforter shell. 

Enjolras waited, as silent and still as he could be, listening to Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac eventually leave. He jumped when there was a male voice he didn’t recognize, until he realized it was only the TV out in the family room. When Grantaire had cried himself out but remained slumped, motionless, in the closet, Enjolras tried again, “Grantaire, it’s alright. I have to get tested the same way too.”

Grantaire’s head popped out forcefully from the blanket. “I know!” Enjolras’s confusion must have been evident because Grantaire practically shouted, “You might be sick because of me!”

Enjolras was taken aback. Had he been worried about Grantaire getting something, it would’ve been theoretically good to take more care with hygiene and contact, but it wouldn’t have been practical. Even if Grantaire did turn out to have an STD, it wasn’t as if he had tried to give it to Enjolras on purpose or even via gross negligence. “I got you sick,” he said, hoping that would be sufficient evidence for Grantaire to believe that he was not uniquely terrible.

“That’s not the same,” spat Grantaire, once again ensconced in his blanket. 

“I suppose not,” Enjolras agreed. “You knew I was sick and decided not to take any precautions. In this case, you still have no idea if you have anything, and we were still pretty cautious.”

Grantaire came back out for what appeared the sole purpose of glaring at him, though Enjolras didn’t think anger was really the root of what Grantaire felt. “Grantaire, no matter what the results are, I still want to be with you. Even if I somehow have something and you don’t. We’ll figure something out.” He would probably need Éponine’s help to figure something out, if Grantaire didn’t have any suggestions of his own, but that was better than nothing. 

“I’m sorry I’m acting like a child,” Grantaire apologized, needlessly. 

“Grantaire, you just found out Master might have given you something, but you can’t even find out now. It’s perfectly reasonable to be upset.” Grantaire didn’t look cheered up. “I’m the unreasonable one,” he tried. “When that desk upset you, I wanted to throw it out the window if I had to, to get rid of it.”

“Jehan might not even mind, as long as you made sure it broke so that they could salvage it for pots.” Grantaire said this in the same tone as everything else, but then he smiled a little bit, and Enjolras couldn’t help but laugh. Grantaire smiled a little more. 

“I promise I’m coming back,” Enjolras said, standing up and retrieving the key from the nightstand. He found Jehan and Éponine watching some sort of documentary, which Éponine leaned forward to pause when she noticed Enjolras standing there. “I want us to eat in our room,” he declared, trying to sound brave and firm. 

Jehan blinked a few times, but then they smiled, stood up, and went into the kitchen to prepare two plates of food. Enjolras felt awkward and unsure with this role reversal, but Jehan only had to reheat whatever Mistress Musichetta had made, and it didn’t take long. They gave him the plates and said, “Just bring these back out when you’re done. I would say you can wait, but we try really hard to keep bugs out of the apartment. You can just rinse them off and leave them in the sink.” 

“Thank you,” Enjolras managed to say this time, forcing it out so Grantaire wouldn’t have to go without as retribution for Enjolras being ungrateful, and he hurried back to their room. Grantaire hadn’t moved but looked worried until he saw Enjolras come back, alone and with food. Enjolras handed Grantaire his plate once the other man had wriggled his arms free of the comforter, before daring to sit down across from him in the closet with his own, leaning against the side of the dresser. 

Jehan had given them some sort of egg and potato dish, but since it had been baked, it was easy enough to eat with their hands. It was at least a relief that they could ignore their silverware, now that their meals were no longer supervised. Maybe leaving the hospital did have some benefits. Enjolras slowly slid his feet forward until they were lightly touching Grantaire’s legs, and while Grantaire didn’t say anything, he turned a bit red again. When they had finished, Grantaire was the first to tear himself away. “I heard,” he said, “I can take the plates out.” 

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, but this time he really meant it. He listened closely as he got up and went over to their pallet, getting himself settled comfortably. Grantaire came back and locked the door without incident, before shuffling over. He stood and watched for a time, but then he slowly laid down on the other side. Before Enjolras could reach out a hand, Grantaire took his pillow and shyly turned it and laid it next to Enjolras’s chest. It was an approximation of how they had been sleeping in the hospital, and while there was less contact, the atmosphere was much cozier. 

“Is this alright?” Enjolras asked as he settled an arm around Grantaire’s head, his hand resting on the other man’s upper back. 

“Yeah,” Grantaire whispered, voice a little shaky. Enjolras felt him swallow. “Just – just wake me up if you leave? Even if it’s just to go to the bathroom?”

“Of course. But I promise I’m not going to leave.” Grantaire didn’t reply, but his breathing smoothed out before Enjolras had even closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know STDs all have different waiting periods, but I figured Combeferre/Joly would decide to wait and do everything at once, since E/R appear as healthy or asymptomatic, in order to make the whole thing less stressful. (That's probably unrealistic, but I had to give E/R a little breathing room!) 
> 
> Also, I should've added this to the last chapter, but based on what I found, if you're charged with kidnapping (and a few other things) in New York, you automatically don't get bail. It's very confusing with state vs federal, so I'm doing the best I can!
> 
> Also also, I've decided all Trial!things will take place in NYC because it's convenient for me. I would appreciate it everyone pretends this is fine. ;) (For real, I tried to think of reasons, and the best I could think of was, was needing to select an impartial jury. But then I couldn't figure out what federal court Fictional Getaway Town would flow up to or how the arraignment part would work, so I will admit I gave up....)


	36. Chapter Thirty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a plot chapter...but then I got derailed by the R!angst. I regret nothing.
> 
> Also, shout-out to my neighbor for deciding to power wash his deck while I wrote this.

Grantaire sat in the closet, head leaning against the dresser, watching Enjolras sleep. He was pretty sure it was obnoxiously cliché, but, to him at least, Enjolras looked positively radiant. Grantaire knew it was a trick, both of the morning light seeping in through the open curtains and Enjolras’s own natural glow. (The glowing part was even more hideously cliché, but Grantaire allowed it, since there really was a marked difference in Enjolras’s skin, courtesy of regular meals and rest.) Grantaire had retreated to the dim closet, his natural habitat, its siren song probably passed on to him by the mole people secretly in his family tree. He wondered how good his chances were of disappearing and turning into a black hole.

He knew he should get up and go back to the pallet Enjolras had made especially for him, because Grantaire could not act like an actual, real, functional person and sleep in any bed presented to him, just some of them. Enjolras had willingly joined him on the floor and Grantaire had been weak enough to beg him not to leave without saying anything. And what had Grantaire done? He had gotten up and left without saying anything. It wasn’t like he had gone on a great expedition, and Enjolras would probably see him in less than five seconds, but he knew that was plenty of time for Enjolras to panic. 

But once he woke up, he knew he couldn’t stay there. No one had touched him in weeks and weeks and Enjolras had held him closer and closer, but then Dr. Combeferre had reminded Enjolras that Grantaire was disgusting and dirty and sick and might have literally made Enjolras disgusting and dirty and sick (it was a given he had already done it in the figurative sense,) and now Enjolras was probably just waiting for a good time to reject him. It would probably be after the arraignment, because Enjolras would (inexplicably) be too afraid to go without Grantaire by his side (maybe his subconscious knew Grantaire would intervene if something happened, as unlikely as that was,) but after that Enjolras would have no use for him. 

Grantaire had gotten so wrapped up in cuddling with Enjolras and talking to Enjolras and wearing clothes from Enjolras that it had been easy to forget he wasn’t actually doing anything for Enjolras. After he went with him to court, he would no longer have any use or purpose. Enjolras had started to do everything – talking to the masters, asking Jehan far too many questions, getting their food, changing the room to suit Grantaire’s irrational whims – while Grantaire had slowly slipped into doing nothing: crying or moping silently and ignoring anyone who spoke to him or saying far too much all at once. His only job had been to help Enjolras, and now he was about to be unemployed. 

He knew he should get up, do something productive, do something wildly unproductive, do anything at fucking all, but instead he just stayed where he was. He did have a lot of silent moping to fit into his day, after all. His only saving grace was the comforter wrapped around him. It hid all the exciting parts of his body (though he supposed his face could be sort of exciting in a circus freak show kind of way) but more importantly it hid Enjolras’s hoodie, now that he had taken the hood off and tucked it in. It was awfully inconsiderate of him to want to keep it, but there were enough clothes in the closet that Enjolras wouldn’t miss it, and Grantaire needed something to get him through.

Enjolras made a soft, quiet sound in his sleep, and Grantaire would have frozen if he hadn’t already been perfectly still, but all Enjolras did was shift slightly and settle back down. Someone made a soft, quiet sound in the apartment, and Grantaire leaned forward so that he could watch their door warily. He should get up and move the drawers Enjolras had booby-trapped the door with, since he was awake and there was no point ruining Enjolras’s safety measure if it could be helped, but he was worried he would make an inadvertent noise. 

Instead he continued doing the one thing he was good at, which was sitting very quietly. It was very tiring having to listen carefully the whole time. Whoever had come into the apartment was making an effort to be quiet, but Grantaire could tell the unknown man was talking to Jehan, both their voices deep enough to be audible, if not intelligible. After awhile, Enjolras made another sound and burrowed down a little deeper. If Grantaire stayed in the room, he wasn’t going to be able to stay away much longer, constantly assaulted by this soft and sweet version of the object of his non-soft and non-sweet affection. 

He still didn’t get up right away, since the idea of arranging his limbs in the correct manner and then actually standing up was overwhelming in and of itself, but the longer he listened, the more sure he became Master de Courfeyrac was the one talking to Jehan. He forced himself to his feet and began de-barricading the door as quietly as he could, trying not to overthink what was going to happen. He would go outside to the family room and he would make himself available and Master de Courfeyrac would take him and Enjolras would remember how gross and untouchable Grantaire was and he would find a quiet corner of the apartment to occupy whenever he was dismissed, whichever corner Enjolras could avoid most easily. At the last moment, he unwrapped the comforter from around his body.

He unlocked the door as softly as he could, and while Enjolras shuffled a bit, he still stayed asleep. Grantaire tried not to think about the other plan starting to form in his head. He would go outside to the family room and he would make himself available and Master de Courfeyrac would take him and he would be as slutty and naughty and good as he knew how to be and then – then he would go to Jehan on his knees and beg to be allowed to bring Enjolras breakfast. (Dr. Combeferre had said they were supposed to keep eating, but that certainly didn’t mean the food was free.) If Master de Courfeyrac was fast enough (he might very well be excited by using Grantaire for the first time but that also meant Grantaire didn’t know what he liked best) and Jehan gave in quickly enough (they seemed content to indulge every desire he and Enjolras had, so this part was almost assured,) Grantaire could back to the room before Enjolras even woke up. If he were careful enough, he could do something nice for Enjolras, and Enjolras would not even be reminded of what Grantaire was really like.

He knew it was just a fantasy, but he had spent countless hours under Master’s desk, when it was safe to think about Enjolras, inventing far more elaborate and childish and unrealistic fantasies than this one, and it was enough to convince him to leave. He didn’t like to leave the door unlocked, but Master de Courfeyrac would have no interest, and Jehan could undoubtedly come in anytime they wanted anyway. It was still unsettling, walking away, putting his attempt at personal gain ahead of Enjolras’s security, but did it really count if it was only a bit of security theater?

He shuffled out to the family room, trying to breathe deeply to steady his nerves. He knew it was mostly a fear of the unknown, a fear of having no idea what would happen to him, rather than a fear of any specific act. If Master de Courfeyrac finished as fast as he hoped, the chances were he was already desensitized to whatever was going to be demanded of him. He honestly was a little relieved when he saw Master de Courfeyrac sitting on the couch (because wouldn’t that be embarrassing if it had turned out to be someone without any interest in him and he was forced to explain to Enjolras what he had been doing.) He was wearing suit pants and a crisp white shirt, a black tie loosened at the collar. This was even better than Grantaire hoped – Master de Courfeyrac wouldn’t want to get sweaty or muss his nice clothes, and unless he had some truly bizarre preferences for his blowjobs, Grantaire could just suck him off and be done with it in no time. 

Grantaire hadn’t really expected Master de Courfeyrac to immediately tear his clothes off, that would hardly be polite, but Grantaire was still disappointed when Master de Courfeyrac nudged Jehan and did nothing else. Grantaire hardly considered it his place to judge what his keeper chose to wear, but their robe was so hideously old-fashioned and floral, more of a dressing gown than a robe really, that Grantaire assumed he was supposed to notice. 

“Good morning, Grantaire,” they said sweetly, setting their mug of tea on top of the coffee table as they turned. They looked around before asking, “Is anything the matter? Is there something you need?” Normally their slow, careful way of speaking made Grantaire feel calmed and soothed, but now it just put him on edge and irritated him. He didn’t have that much time.

“I’m fine. I feel better.” He tried not to speak too quickly, though he knew he had failed when Jehan and Master de Courfeyrac exchanged a look. 

“Why don’t I get you some breakfast,” Jehan said, though it was more of a mandate and less of an offer. Grantaire felt tears start to burn his eyes. He wanted breakfast, but not like this. Enjolras could have done this, easily, without countless wasted minutes of self-loathing, and the gift would be ruined if it wasn’t something special. He might as well take Enjolras’s hoodie off and try to give him that as a gift, for all the effect this would have. 

He watched Master de Courfeyrac from under his eyelashes, trying to will him to either get up and grab Grantaire or beckon him over. But Master de Courfeyrac apparently could only communicate telepathically with Jehan, since he had done neither of those things by the time they re-appeared with two plates of food. “There’s no rush,” Jehan said, “but do you think both of you could come out here when you feel up to it?”

Grantaire took the plates, even though he really just wanted to ignore them and lay down on the floor and wait for it to swallow him, the way he should be swallowing Master de Courfeyrac right now. He didn’t want to tell Enjolras what had happened, but he was going to have to, and Enjolras was going to ask questions about what Grantaire had seen, questions like, “Why are you wearing a suit?” Grantaire wasn’t sure which of the three of them was most surprised. 

Jehan and Master de Courfeyrac shared another look. “I wear a suit when I have to go to court,” Master de Courfeyrac said carefully and Grantaire knew and he promptly dropped the plates. Even though he had just considered this very idea, he stared at the broken ceramic shards and splattered food with a sort of fascinated horror. He had only broken something of Master’s once and it had been blamed on Enjolras and they were going to send Enjolras outside if Grantaire couldn’t convince them to send him out instead, when Enjolras could’ve stayed warm and dry in bed if Grantaire hadn’t thought, in his massive hubris, that he could do something to help, and before he could think about it, he really was on the floor.

“Oh, Grantaire, your knees!” Jehan exclaimed, trying to tug him back up. But it felt so good, the physical pain both clearing his head and reminding him of his place, and it felt even better when Enjolras appeared, groggy and rumpled and afraid, because Grantaire had been stupid and this was going to remind him how stupid he was, but before he was anywhere close to satisfied, Enjolras hauled him bodily to his feet and rushed him away to the bathroom. 

So much of the time after his suicide attempt was hazy and other-worldly, like a fever dream, but as Enjolras sat him on the toilet and began digging through the cabinet, Grantaire knew this wasn’t the first time. He knew Enjolras had found everything he wanted when he started vigorously washing his hands, like he was the dirty one, drowning out the low but frantic voice of Master de Courfeyrac in the family room. 

“Grantaire, I need to roll your pants up. I’m sorry.” Enjolras was horribly apologetic, as if he had just said he needed to stab Grantaire in the heart, except that was for later, not now, not when he had an invalid to tend to. Grantaire hissed as Enjolras slowly worked the material off the embedded shards and pushed them up, but the pain was subsumed by the soft play of Enjolras’s fingers on his calves and knees, and Grantaire realized with all-consuming shame that he was hard. Enjolras turned away to grab a pair of tweezers from the counter, and Grantaire had never been so thankful for their height difference as he quickly yanked the hoodie down to cover himself. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Enjolras said, entirely misreading Grantaire’s discomfort. This time the pain was far too sharp to be subsumed by anything, even as Enjolras kept his word. Every time Grantaire thought they were surely done, Enjolras plucked out another miniscule fragment. Grantaire was doubly relieved when it was over, as he had long gone soft. Enjolras washed his knees next, the soap still stinging as gauze was wrapped around them and taped into place. Grantaire knew Enjolras was looking at him, but he couldn’t look back.

Enjolras took his hands and squeezed so gently that Grantaire felt like all the air was being crushed from his lungs. “How did they make you leave without waking me?” he asked, sounding like he was being crushed as well, but under comically misplaced guilt.

“They didn’t make me,” he admitted. The damage and chaos he had already caused were so bad there was no point in trying to worm his way out of this conversation. He wondered if it would hurt less badly if Enjolras sent him away in true anger, rather than disgust or disappointment, but he was pretty sure that hurt was going to be like infinity, and he didn’t think it would matter much to him that infinities could be different sizes.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, clearly annoyed, and Grantaire braced himself, except the effort was wasted. “I know they couldn’t have physically forced you without waking me. But just because they manipulated you instead doesn’t mean their methods were any less coercive.” 

“No, they didn’t make me,” Grantaire repeated. “I – I went on my own. They didn’t even know I was awake before I went out there.”

“Why did they ask you to do in exchange for food?” Enjolras asked, and this was precisely why Grantaire normally avoided talking, because once Enjolras had an opening, he would press and press until he got the answers he desired. 

“Nothing.” And because Grantaire was pathetic, this was what made him burst into tears. Enjolras was truly taken aback, clearly trying to reorganize his thoughts around this new information. “The arraignment’s today,” Grantaire choked out. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to show you I could still be useful but then he didn’t want – didn’t want me, and I got upset, and this is all so stupid.” Enjolras stroked his hair very gently, twirling each individual curl in exactly the way Grantaire liked, but it only made him more upset, since he could only think about how this was never going to happen again. “Can I have my comforter?” he asked, because why not be a complete child about this while he was at it.

“Of course, whatever you want,” Enjolras said, since he couldn’t take a hint if Grantaire beat him over the head with it. He carefully opened the bathroom door, wedging it with his body, but there must have been no one there, because he darted out and was back in record time with the requested item. Grantaire heard Jehan softly call for him, but Enjolras ignored them, and now he really was going to be in trouble because of Grantaire. He folded the comforter up, until he could wrap it around Grantaire without it brushing his tender knees. There was silence for a long time.

“Enjolras?” Jehan said, rapping lightly on the door. “You don’t have to come out. I just want to make sure there’s nothing you need.”

“We’re fine,” he said, though he gave Grantaire a look that meant they were about to be not fine, because the conversation was not over, now that Grantaire had regained some control.

“Alright. Why don’t you come out to the family room when you’re ready? We’ll have breakfast and talk a little. I promise neither of us are angry.” Enjolras didn’t reply but looked even stormier than before, and Jehan walked away. 

Enjolras knelt in front of Grantaire so that they were at eye level, but also so that Grantaire couldn’t easily get up and walk away. “Grantaire, what do you mean you needed to be useful?” Enjolras was frowning and looked perplexed.

“When was the last time I did anything for you?” Grantaire half-said, half-yelled. It wasn’t like it would be a secret when Enjolras threw him out, so it didn’t really matter if Jehan heard the build-up. It was honestly better if they did, because then hopefully they wouldn’t feel compelled to ask Grantaire to explain later. 

Enjolras’s frown grew deeper. “You do lots of things for me, Grantaire.”

“Like what?” Grantaire hoped Enjolras would give up trying to think of something sooner rather than later. Dying of old age in Jehan’s bathroom wasn’t exactly appealing. 

Enjolras looked away, and Grantaire wanted to shake him. There was no reason for Enjolras to be so ashamed. Grantaire really would have nothing left to do at this rate. “Grantaire, I know – I know it must be…draining, that I constantly need you with me. I’m sorry I haven’t directly acknowledged how much that means to me. But it really, truly means a lot.”

“It’s not exactly rocket science,” Grantaire snapped. He would happily be Enjolras’s glorified teddy bear, but he wasn’t good at because of some unique skill. Being obsessed with Enjolras was more of a medical condition than a talent. 

Enjolras let out a shaky sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I should offer to be better. I know they haven’t separated us in so long, but-” he paused as his voice cracked, “but you don’t – when I woke up and you weren’t there and I didn’t know where you were and they wouldn’t let me see you, and I know Jehan helped me in the end, but they must have known where I was the whole time and not done anything about it until I did, and I just can’t forget all of that. I know I should promise to try, but I don’t want to make one I know I can’t keep.”

“Wait, you think it’s some kind of…hardship for me to be around you?” Grantaire would’ve laughed if Enjolras hadn’t looked so perfectly earnest and contrite. 

“Sometimes you liked to have your space, and I’ve been too selfish to let you have any.” 

“Enjolras, I was always trying to give you space.” Grantaire had really been trying not to inflict himself on Enjolras more than necessary, but this horrible discussion would probably be shorter if he matched Enjolras’s word choice. Or maybe not, because Enjolras looked genuinely surprised by this breaking news bulletin. 

“So you don’t hate me for being so clingy?”

Grantaire didn’t hate Enjolras for anything, but if he could, it would be for being obtuse enough to make his head explode. “Of course not.” If part of it was because a clingy Enjolras was an Enjolras that wouldn’t get rid of Grantaire, well, Enjolras didn’t need to know that. But maybe he had managed to guess, because now he was looking at Grantaire with a strange expression on his face. He took Grantaire’s hands. “I love you,” he said, just as earnestly as everything else. 

Grantaire tried to ignore how good those words in that tone made him feel, because he knew it was all conditional. Enjolras couldn’t stay that afraid of the past forever, and if it was never reinforced in the present, he would eventually want to do things without a giant anchor trailing behind him everywhere he went. Grantaire should help him get there, help him get to a better mental place, but instead he was awful and weak and terrible and squeezed back and said, “I love you too.” Enjolras beamed so brightly that Grantaire knew he would never be able to give any other answer, ever. “We should go,” he said, before he could melt. Enjolras stood reluctantly and led them out. The mess on the floor had been cleaned, and Jehan had changed into suit pants and what looked to be a borrowed white blouse, the fit not quite right on their small frame. 

“Why don’t I go get you some breakfast?” they said, floating into the kitchen. Enjolras tucked Grantaire behind him as they were left with Master de Courfeyrac. 

“I’m sorry I surprised you like this,” he said, a little more calmly than usual. “The arraignment is scheduled for later today. Marius and I thought it would be tomorrow at the earliest. We would’ve said something if we thought it could be today.” He looked like he wanted to say something else but changed his mind after looking around them to Jehan. Grantaire stared at Enjolras’s shoulder, and Enjolras stared at the floor. “Do you have any questions?” prompted Master de Courfeyrac when they didn’t say anything.

Enjolras shifted a little and then asked again, “He won’t be able to see us?”

“No. Everyone but me and Jehan is going to go in ahead of time and save seats, and we’ll take you in after he’s seated. Bahorel and Combeferre will sit in front, so even if he tries to turn around and see you, he won’t be able to.” Grantaire wasn’t sure how Enjolras felt, but he had to admit he liked this plan. Master would probably break some kind of record for smugness if he saw they had been taken into the keeping of their new masters, just as he had threatened and taunted them with, but he would also see those same masters were unified and invested in protecting their wards. He believed Master de Courfeyrac was telling the truth when he said Master would be locked up in one manner or another for a long time, but it would be better if he didn’t spend that time thinking the two of them would be easily re-acquired when the chance presented itself. 

Jehan returned from the kitchen with another two plates. Grantaire was surprised he was being allowed food, after what he had done earlier, but he knew Enjolras would be upset if he tried to refuse. “Why don’t you go eat and get some rest?” they said as Enjolras took the plates. “Courfeyrac will be out here if you have any other questions.” They smiled but looked fierce despite it. “It’s so brave of you to want to go, but you can change your mind at any time, and no one is going to be upset. Even if we go into the courtroom and you want to leave then, that’s fine. There’s no pressure or right way to act. I’ll come give you a half hour warning before we have to leave.”

Enjolras nodded slightly and then retreated backwards, keeping Grantaire trapped behind him until they were out of Master de Courfeyrac’s sight. He locked them back into their room. They sat on the floor, outside the closet this time, and ate in silence. Enjolras was clearly brooding, and Grantaire didn’t want to disrupt his thoughts. He was secretly hoping Jehan had tempted Enjolras to change his mind about going after all, but he tried to resign himself to his fate. 

“You’re only going because I need you to come with me,” Enjolras said when he had finished, pushing a crumb of food around his plate. Grantaire nodded, too afraid to speak. As much as he didn’t want to go, to have think about what Master had done to him, it would be far worse to be left behind by Enjolras. Had the conversation in the bathroom served no purpose except to humiliate him? Enjolras was staring at him now, so Grantaire looked at his own empty plate like it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. “Would you – would you like to spoon?” Enjolras asked so quietly Grantaire wondered if he had imagined it.

“Enjolras, you don’t have to…to repay me for going with you.” 

Enjolras looked hurt for a moment before he shook it off. “That wasn’t my intention. I know you don’t really want to go, and while I respect your right to choose to do something unpleasant, I meant what I said.” He blushed a little but he pushed on, stumbling over his words in a rush. “I love you and I appreciate you’re willing to do this for me instead of getting frustrated with my issues and I want to demonstrate that.” 

Grantaire wanted to trot out the reflexive no, but here was Enjolras, willingly offering one of the many things he had fantasized about. If only the logistics were as easy in reality as in his head. “Could you – could you use a blanket?” Enjolras looked a little confused, and Grantaire expected him to recoil in disgust when he figured it out, but he only smiled in understanding. 

“Of course.” He offered Grantaire a hand and led him to their pallet, selecting a mid-weight blanket and wrapping it around his waist like a towel. As Enjolras knelt down to rearrange their pillows and the scattered blankets, Grantaire slowly shed the comforter. Enjolras had wanted to spoon him (for some reason,) not a marshmallow. When Enjolras was satisfied, he laid down and bent his knees, and he patted the empty space next to him. Grantaire was horrified to find himself shaking slightly as he curled up next to Enjolras and slid back until they were pressed together, but Enjolras only wrapped his arms around him and made no comment.

And despite Grantaire’s nerves, it was really fucking nice. He felt secure tucked against Enjolras’s larger frame, and his warmth was comforting. Master had held him like this before, but Grantaire had always been tense the whole time, wondering how long Master would be content to merely press against him before starting to rock his hips. He knew Enjolras wouldn’t do that, but it also helped that he was fully dressed, with a blanket in between them. The only embarrassing part was the sound he made when Enjolras twisted and kissed the back of his neck. 

“Go to sleep,” Enjolras urged, which was entirely unnecessary, since Grantaire was halfway there already. 

“What, are you staying awake to brood some more?” Grantaire mumbled, too tired to really think about what he was saying, but Enjolras just laughed a little. 

“I’m staying awake to think.” 

Grantaire’s last thought as he drifted off was that thinking sounded overrated, and how that was a very ironic thought to have.


	37. Chapter Thirty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for improbably designed courthouses.

Grantaire woke to Enjolras softly stroking the side of his neck. “Jehan came by a few minutes ago,” Enjolras explained, from somewhere above him, as Grantaire blinked blearily a few times. He was pretty sure this was supposed to mean something, but he was so warm and safe and comfortable that he didn’t feel like remembering. Maybe if he stayed where he was, Enjolras would just keep holding him while he went back to sleep.

Enjolras did give him a few more minutes of blissful drowsing before he shook his shoulder. “Grantaire, we need to get up. We have to leave soon.” Fuck. Now he remembered, and that was more than enough to drag him back into reality at top speed. He sat up so fast that he nearly smashed his head into Enjolras’s. 

“How did your thinking go?” he asked, so that Enjolras would have to think of an answer instead of Grantaire’s inability to act normal. 

“It was probably just as unproductive as you predicted,” he said, though he was smiling a little, like Grantaire hadn’t been a total ass. Then he grew serious again. “Grantaire, we don’t know what’s going to happen at court. But can we promise we’ll cuddle like this afterwards, no matter what?”

“They might not let us come back to the room right away,” Grantaire pointed out, alert enough now that his deflection game was strong. 

Enjolras frowned. “I suppose that’s a fair point. As soon as we can, then.”

“I thought you said your thinking was unproductive,” Grantaire tried. He would gladly spoon with Enjolras at any time of day or night, but he didn’t want to be so fucking obvious about it. 

“Grantaire, please,” Enjolras said, though without annoyance, like he already knew. “Master…excelled at keeping us apart even when he let us be together. We can’t let seeing him send us back to that. I thought it would be good to have a plan in place to counteract that.”

Grantaire wanted to agree so badly, he honestly did, but, “I don’t want to trap you, Enjolras. If you’d rather not associate with someone like me, or, you know, actual me afterwards, I won’t blame you.” It would hurt like holy fuck, but Grantaire would understand. He really should turn the closet corner into a better sleeping space, and there was no time like the present. 

Enjolras took his hands and waited until Grantaire was looking in his general direction, even if he couldn’t meet his eyes. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Grantaire. I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I know you don’t want me to know anything more than I already do, and I can respect that, but seeing Master isn’t suddenly going to make me want to – to reject you. It makes me feel, I don’t know,” Enjolras paused to release Grantaire and rub at his own face, and his tone was sharper when he spoke again. “It makes me feel angry and helpless, and I can tell it makes you nervous and afraid, and I know that’s the whole point and I don’t know how to stop either of us from feeling like that, so I thought if we promised now, we can hang onto that when it gets hard.”

“No matter what?” Grantaire finally asked, voice almost inaudible. Enjolras was right that Master was going to make him anxious and depressed, that most toxic of emotional stews, but it was also just going to make him feeling (more) repellant and (more) ashamed. 

“No matter what,” Enjolras affirmed. “Even if Master stands up and describes everything he did in graphic detail.”

“Alright,” Grantaire finally mumbled. He didn’t really think it was going to happen, but maybe he wouldn’t feel so guilty fantasizing about it. 

Enjolras stood and then helped him up. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed to bring his comforter with him, but he grabbed it anyway and covered himself before they reached the family room. Jehan and Master de Courfeyrac had both put on their suit coats, and Jehan was retrieving their winter coats from the closet. Grantaire felt rather like a hobo in comparison, in his over-large pajamas, but it was far better than being exactly naked. Master de Courfeyrac shot a look at Jehan, who just shrugged and smiled serenely as they buttoned their pea coat. 

Master de Courfeyrac seemed unconvinced. “Are you ready to go?” he asked the two of them, the question far less perfunctory than normal. Grantaire said nothing, so at least he didn’t make it worse, but Enjolras also said nothing, no doubt as baffled as Grantaire about what they had done wrong. 

“Why don’t you come get bundled up?” Jehan asked, though this was clearly an order, and it broke the awkward silence. “Grantaire, you can keep your blanket, but you won’t be warm enough unless you put your outside stuff back on.” Dressing was less physically awkward this time, the motions a little more familiar, but he knew Master de Courfeyrac kept glancing at them, glancing at him, no doubt wishing the scene were playing out in reverse. Enjolras must have felt it too, because as soon as Grantaire had zipped up his coat (all on his very own this time, like a big boy,) he wrapped Grantaire up in the comforter, much more firmly than was strictly necessary. 

“The taxi’s outside,” Master de Courfeyrac said, looking at his phone. Grantaire thought descending the stairs would be easier than laboring up them had been, but it was still exhausting work. Jehan shooed Master de Courfeyrac down, probably to tell the taxi the rest of the passengers would arrive by next century, and they waited patiently at each landing for their two charges, but Grantaire felt like he was plummeting at breakneck pace into the depths of hell. It was like that awful punch when Enjolras was yanked away from him, except drawn out into torturous slowness. Getting in the taxi was almost a relief.

It was less crowded than last time, since Master de Courfeyrac was sitting up front and making pleasant conversation with the driver and only Jehan joined them in the back, and while Enjolras took what was nominally the middle seat, he still squashed into Grantaire’s seat to push him against the door. Grantaire wondered what the chances were of getting killed, or at least knocked blissfully unconscious if he opened the door and rolled into traffic, but either of those states would render him incapable of feeling Enjolras’s weight and warmth, and he didn’t have the strength to turn away from those.

The only real discomfort was the heat from the car mixing with the cold seeping in through the window. It was making Grantaire a little nauseous. Or maybe that was just the dream-like quality of watching the world go by outside, surreal after spending so long in one house and with only two other people. Or maybe it was how one of those two people was pressed firmly against his side. Or probably it was knowing he was about to see the other. 

It was hard to gauge time as they drove, creeping along in the stop-and-go traffic of the city, and besides, Grantaire was used to marking time in events, not minutes. He didn't really want to think about the next event, so he alternated thinking about Enjolras and counting the people they passed. He rarely could get past twenty without losing track. 

After what felt like both too much time and not enough, the taxi slowed down a bit as they passed in front of what must be the courthouse, though it was almost entirely obscured by a crush of reporters, camera crews, and random hangers-on. Grantaire thought he would literally die if he had to walk through the mob. There were so many people, and so many of them would end up touching him, and it felt like his skin was crawling and - Enjolras must have been just as worried, because he grabbed Grantaire’s wrist. He would probably break Grantaire’s arm or at least dislocate his shoulder if they were separated, but Grantaire didn't care. 

Jehan was looking out their window, at the restaurants across the street, as if they hadn’t noticed, but Master de Courfeyrac was watching the throngs on the steps too. Someone honked, and he shook his head, and pointed up the street, explaining to the driver where to go instead. Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief as they turned the corner, and if it was in part because Enjolras did not let go, he wasn’t about to say anything. Halfway down the street, there were a few police officers milling around on the sidewalk, in front of a much less pretentious entrance. One of them stepped forward as the taxi pulled up, looking very stern, until Master de Courfeyrac rolled down the window and presumably explained who they were. (Grantaire stopped listening so he wouldn’t have to hear himself described.) 

Suddenly, the door was opened, and Grantaire would’ve toppled out in surprise if it weren’t for Enjolras. “Sorry about that, sir,” the officer said apologetically, even though Master de Courfeyrac was deep in conversation with the driver and not paying attention. 

“Are you ready to get out?” Jehan prompted, when Grantaire sat motionless. His body felt unbearably heavy as he climbed out, and he was pathetically relieved when Enjolras quickly followed and tucked Grantaire behind him. Jehan slid out the same way, and as soon as they had shut the door, a few of the officers hustled all three of them inside. They stood in a warm, deserted hallway in silence, though Grantaire almost had a heart attack when the door opened again. He shrunk behind Enjolras, and he was so terrified that someone from the mob had seen them and was following them, that he was honestly a bit relieved when it was just Master de Courfeyrac. 

“The police said he can keep circling the block.” He and Jehan shared another telepathic look. “Follow me.” Grantaire and Enjolras obeyed, shuffling along the hallway, passing a multitude of closed doors, until they stopped at one in particular. “Just a minute,” Master de Courfeyrac said, before knocking on the door and then immediately going inside. Grantaire did his best not to listen again, and he tried to count the individual specks on the floor tile when Master de Courfeyrac’s voice took on a cajoling tone. He didn’t want to know what was being offered. Grantaire braced himself when Master de Courfeyrac popped back out, though all he said was, “We can keep your things in here, so you don’t very conspicuously rustle into court. If you want to leave quickly, I can come grab them and bring them back to the apartment.”

Grantaire hadn’t even thought about how noisy they were as all their synthetic layers rubbed together, and he was glad someone had thought of it. Master would be furious enough to see Grantaire clothed at all, let alone sufficiently bundled up against the cold. That didn’t mean he liked having to disrobe in any manner in the open hall, even if Jehan and Master de Courfeyrac just happened to move away to look at a flower arrangement, sitting on a small decorative table, while he did it. As sad as it was to not hold hands with Enjolras, Grantaire was incredibly thankful he had been allowed his comforter. When they had finished, Master de Courfeyrac scooped up the pile they had made and deposited it in the office, saying something cheerily before shutting the door. He started to lead them away, and Grantaire saw the flowers Jehan had supposedly been admiring were fake.

He didn’t even try to keep track of where they went, though he stayed so close to Enjolras he stepped on the other man’s heels a few times. He did think it strange that, for the horde outside, they encountered no one Master de Courfeyrac did not intend them to once inside, and he wondered if it had been engineered that way on purpose. He hadn’t really had a concept of what it meant that the media were interested in them, but he could see why Jehan wouldn’t want all those people questioning why they were keeping the two of them. 

After some time, they stopped outside another door, and though the voices behind it were muffled, they all sounded formal and professional, and Grantaire assumed this was the courtroom. A bailiff was standing at the door, and while Master de Courfeyrac went to talk to him, Jehan shepherded them to a bench, the design of which looked out of place, and Grantaire wondered if it had been moved there for this specific purpose. He had been too scared to realize how tired he was until he sat down, but as soon as he did, he wondered how he was ever going to get back up, let alone climb back to Jehan’s apartment. He distracted himself by stopping Enjolras from tearing his own fingers off without even realizing. That would be awkward to explain. 

They sat like that for some time, alone and unbothered, while Jehan stood off to the side, quiet and motionless, like they were meditating or in some sort of trance, and Master de Courfeyrac paced up and down the hall, though he never got close to where they sat. When Enjolras finally ceased trying to dismember himself, Grantaire dared to rest his head on top of his shoulder, and after Enjolras took a cautious look around, he quickly kissed Grantaire’s head. Grantaire pretended they could stay like this forever, but they both looked up when the sound of Master de Courfeyrac’s steps ceased. Jehan opened their eyes and came over to them.

“I’m not trying to persuade or dissuade you, but I want to make sure you both still want to do this. It’s completely fine if you’ve changed your minds.” Enjolras was shaking slightly, but he nodded, so Grantaire did too. “Alright. We’re all really proud of you no matter what. You’ll be between me and Courfeyrac, and if you want to leave early, just nudge one of us and we’ll come back out here right away.”

Master de Courfeyrac was watching the proceedings from the cracked door, and while he was expressionless, Grantaire could feel the anger radiating off of him. At least that terror gave him something to think about other than seeing Master. As hard as it was, he stood when Enjolras stood and walked when Enjolras walked, and in what felt like a flash, they had been quietly and inconspicuously seated in a sea of the masters. It was another surreal experience, that after all the times the police had questioned them about Master, he was finally sitting here in court. Grantaire plucked up the courage to steal a quick glance over Dr. Combeferre’s shoulder, but it ran out, even when all he saw was the back of Master’s head and torso, dressed in a black suit with his hair neatly combed. Enjolras just stared at his lap.

The court was quiet at first, and Grantaire wondered if anything was even happening, or if he had somehow dreamed this whole thing and his mind didn’t know what further details to supply and he was going to wake up in the crawlspace or in Master’s bed, but then the judge spoke and then a woman in a suit, sitting on the opposite side of the room from Master, stood and delivered approximately two forests’ worth of paper to the judge, though it all seemed perfunctory and second nature. Grantaire tuned out when the prosecutor started talking about bail, since Master de Courfeyrac had said more than once it wasn’t a concern. 

He used the time to look at the masters from under his eyelashes. They were all sitting in front or to the side of him and Enjolras, which made sense, since it wasn’t like Master could get up and sneak around from behind. All of them were dressed in dark suits, except for Mistress Fauchelevent, who wore a navy blue dress. And all of them were staring at Master, like they could make his head explode if they all thought about it hard enough at the same time. Éponine was the only one missing, and Grantaire wondered why that was, but before he could think up more than four or five horrific possibilities, Enjolras looked up sharply. 

The man that had been sitting next to Master stood and started arguing, albeit rather calmly, that Master should be allowed out until trial. Grantaire almost started humming to drown it out, but he imagined the sound instead, not wanting to draw attention for his own sake, and so that Jehan wouldn’t punish him later. But Enjolras still sat attentively, watching, though he began to shake, and it grew more and more pronounced as the defense attorney kept talking. It was bad enough Master de Courfeyrac had noticed, and he kept looking between Enjolras and the back of Dr. Combeferre’s head, though he didn’t get up. 

Grantaire tried to think of what he could do to help, but before he could think of any concrete or reasonable ideas, the defense attorney finally stopped talking and the judge, in an incredibly unimpressed voice, declared no bail, and Jehan and Master de Courfeyrac were hustling them out. Master de Courfeyrac must have signaled Dr. Combeferre somehow after all, because he joined them in the hall. Enjolras was shaking so badly that Grantaire was sure he would fall if Grantaire stepped away. 

“Enjolras, what’s wrong?” Dr. Combeferre said, on edge despite his calm appearance. 

“I – I – I don’t feel well,” Enjolras said in a high, strange voice, and that was by far the scariest thing Grantaire had experienced all day. If this were all an act, Enjolras would’ve invented more specific symptoms or made a specific request. 

“OK, here, let’s just go sit down for a minute and breathe. Everything’s going to be fine. No one can hurt you.” Grantaire helped Enjolras sit down on the bench and while he tried to stay pressed against him as much as possible, he otherwise just took up space. Dr. Combeferre knelt in front of Enjolras and tried to coax him into breathing evenly and slowly, all while efficiently taking his pulse and feeling his hands. He waited until Enjolras was no longer close to hyperventilating before he asked, “Enjolras, I know it’s hard. Can you try to tell me what feels wrong?”

“I’m – I’m cold. I feel dizzy,” Enjolras answered in that same horrible tone, somehow even worse now that he was calmer. 

“OK, let’s have you lie down for a few minutes.” Grantaire, selfishly, was upset he would have to get up to make room, but Dr. Combeferre asked, “Grantaire, do you think you can just slide down a little and elevate Enjolras’s feet in your lap?” Grantaire did as he was bidden, both thankful there was actually a doctor and ashamed that this was yet another thing he could no longer do for Enjolras. One thing he could do was give up the safety of his comforter, so he removed it and covered Enjolras from neck to knees. The hall was quiet, other than when Dr. Joly slipped out of the courtroom and conversed quietly with Dr. Combeferre. 

“How are you feeling, Enjolras?” Dr. Combeferre asked, once Enjolras had been still for a few minutes. 

“I – I don’t think I’m going to pass out.” Enjolras’s voice was closer to normal, but he sounded very far away now. 

“That’s very good. Let’s sit up slowly and just stay like that for a few minutes.” When Enjolras passed this test, Dr. Combeferre repeated, “That’s very good. If you start feeling dizzy or faint again while we walk, you need to let me know and we’ll stop.” Enjolras nodded, and they all went down the hall, except for Dr. Joly, who only nodded at Dr. Combeferre. The walk back to the office Master de Courfeyrac had commandeered as a storage space did not seem as long this time, with a warm taxi ride at the other end, instead of the cold terror of Master, but Grantaire did have to act as a support for Enjolras as he layered back up. When he let Grantaire wrap the comforter back around him without a complaint, or even a look, Grantaire grew really concerned. Dr. Combeferre seemed to think Enjolras was better, but he obviously wasn’t. Grantaire started to think of the best way to ask Jehan for a warm drink or a warm bath when they got back to the apartment. 

Jehan waited with them inside, while Master de Courfeyrac and Dr. Combeferre went out, and when Dr. Combeferre poked his head back in, the taxi was waiting at the curb. Grantaire climbed in after Jehan and Dr. Combeferre, crowding Enjolras against the closed door in a bizarre role reversal. Enjolras had his head turned to the window, but Grantaire doubted he was seeing anything on the other side. 

Grantaire thought he wouldn’t notice the climb back to the apartment, since he had Enjolras to watch over, but in reality getting two people instead of just one up the stairs was exhausting. He hoped kneeling and begging would be enough for Jehan, especially since his knees were all cut up and would hurt right away, because he was too tired and slow to try anything more complex. Enjolras still seemed to be on a distant planet. After Jehan let them all into the apartment, Enjolras slowly and sloppily undressed, struggling with the comforter, apparently having forgotten it was there. 

Grantaire took him by the elbow, wanting to get him laid down before he asked Jehan for anything, when Enjolras looked up again, almost as attentive as he had been in the courtroom. He was staring at the large blank, discolored space above the sofa, and whatever he saw there was enough to make him seize Grantaire in an incredibly demonstrative (and tight) hug, right in front of everyone. “We’re going to our room,” he announced (that was fine, just fine, Grantaire could apologize later and say Enjolras didn’t know what was going on) and then forcibly marched Grantaire out. He opened and closed and locked the door, all like it had committed some unspeakable act against him. He was much gentler when he took Grantaire to their pallet and laid him down and spooned against him. And then he burst into tears.

Grantaire had no idea what all this was about, since it wasn’t like any reaction Enjolras had had to Master before, no matter how cruel or taxing the punishment, and while he had plenty of things he could say, he thought they were all probably wrong. He hadn’t thought crying could be so…angry, but somehow Enjolras managed it, so Grantaire just lay quiet and still, his hair growing damp, until Enjolras had exhausted himself. 

“Enjolras?” he said softly, when the other man showed no inclination to speak. 

“That was supposed to be me,” he said, because apparently he had also stolen Grantaire’s penchant for speaking in riddles. No wonder Enjolras found it so fucking annoying. 

“What was supposed to be you?”

“They’re not going to hurt us.” Great, he stole the non-sequitur bit too. 

“Who’s not going to hurt us?”

And…he had taken the blockading silences too. At least he hadn’t gotten the patience to maintain them as well, because he finally asked, “Grantaire, do you remember before?”

“Before what? Do you mean the hospital? Or when I was sick?” That had certainly left plenty of gaps in Grantaire’s memory.

“No.” Enjolras was quiet again, like Grantaire was going to read his mind. Grantaire was lucky there hadn’t been any windows in Master’s house high enough for Enjolras to throw him out of in frustration. “I mean, before – before him.”

Oh. “Oh.” Grantaire gave it some serious thought. “I don’t think so.” He knew such a time must exist, that he hadn’t lived with Master his whole life, that he must have at least had a childhood, but any memories he could try to recall were fuzzy and unsettling, like they really belonged to someone else. 

“Nothing? Not even – not even how you – not even what our relationship was?” Enjolras’s voice trailed off. Grantaire was taken aback. Had there been a time when he hadn’t loved Enjolras? He couldn’t say why, but that didn’t sound right. 

“I don’t remember when I fell in love,” he admitted, feeling hot and ashamed, but not quite the way he was used to. “It must have been before. And I still – I still don’t know what we are.” Enjolras huffed but lapsed back into silence. 

“Do you want to remember?” 

Grantaire gave this serious thought. “If you want me to.” It was hard to miss something he could never remember having in the first place, but this was clearly important to Enjolras. Enjolras huffed again, but then he stood and drew Grantaire up.

“I promise they’re not going to hurt us,” he said, and while Enjolras believed that, Grantaire wasn’t so sure. He had seen no signs from anyone that they were going to be given special allowances for bad behavior today, despite the stress of going to court. But Grantaire was capable of nothing but agreement. 

The three masters had removed their coats and were sitting around the family room, all looking like they were also in various states of shock themselves. “Enjolras? Are you feeling OK?” Dr. Combeferre asked as soon as he noticed them. 

“Where is it?” Enjolras said, ignoring the question to look at Jehan and point at the empty wall. 

Jehan looked surprised and then very sad, after he studied Grantaire. “I promise it’s safe, Enjolras. We just didn’t know if it would be triggering.” Grantaire wondered what they were talking about, but he just stood quietly, because at least he could do that adequately. 

“You think everything is triggering!” Enjolras exploded. “We need to see it.” 

“Enjolras, it’s already been a stressful day. Maybe we should-”

“Fuck you. You don’t even know what stressful is,” Enjolras snarled and then stormed away and promptly began ransacking Jehan and Éponine’s room before anyone could move. Grantaire was afraid of being punished, but he was terrified of Enjolras’s anger. He followed him before anyone else could and found him in the middle of throwing the contents of the closet onto the floor, though it was done with such erratic and violent movements that Grantaire didn’t think this was really helping Enjolras look for…whatever it was he was looking for. 

“Enjolras, please, this isn’t worth it.” Enjolras stopped, and Grantaire was almost relieved the episode was over so quickly, until Enjolras just shook his head. 

“He stole years from us, but it’s not right if he stole any more than that,” and he promptly resumed his task. 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire jumped when Dr. Combeferre appeared in the doorway. “Enjolras?” he repeated, a little louder.

“What?” he hissed, flinging a hanger onto the floor. 

“Enjolras, no one’s trying to keep anything from you. Why don’t we-”

“No!” Enjolras shouted, and he picked the hanger back up so that he could hurl at Dr. Combeferre, though it missed badly. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re the one who tried to keep me from Grantaire. When he was dying.” A second hanger followed the first.

“Enjolras, Grantaire wasn’t dying when you woke up, he was stable. And I do feel horrible about the misunderstanding. We were only doing it for Grantaire’s health. We never meant for you to feel like it was done in anger or as punishment.” Dr. Combeferre was remarkably patient for having things thrown at him. 

“Why don’t you want him to remember?” Enjolras asked, holding yet another hanger, but at least this time he only brandished it.

“It’s not that, Enjolras. You know how stressful it was for you at the courthouse to remember things…unexpectedly. I’m sure Grantaire is tired, and I just think we should consider this a little more.” Grantaire thought the latest hanger might get thrown after all, but Enjolras suddenly sagged. He looked at Grantaire sideways and then slowly approached, like Grantaire might reject him, but then he hugged him very tightly again.

“I’m sorry, Grantaire. I don’t – I don’t know what came over me. You shouldn’t do anything just to please me. Let’s just go back to our room and you can rest. I’ll ask Jehan for some food.”

“No,” Grantaire said quickly, before he could stop himself. “No, now the not-knowing would be worse than the knowing. I just want to get it over with.” Enjolras stared at him intently and then finally kissed his forehead, and Grantaire would’ve been willing to remember anything, just for that one moment. 

Dr. Combeferre coughed a little awkwardly. “Courf went to get it. Jehan had put it in their storage room.”

“Don’t worry about the mess,” they said softly, materializing next to Dr. Combeferre. “I can clean it up later.” Grantaire heard the apartment door open and then Master de Courfeyrac swear as he lugged something inside. Dr. Combeferre and Jehan moved away, and Enjolras led Grantaire out. Master de Courfeyrac was propping a large canvas up against a wall. Grantaire felt confused.

It was a painting of all the masters, plus (inexplicably) him and Enjolras, scattered around some sort of café. Grantaire thought it looked very nice, professional even, but he had no idea why everyone, Enjolras included, was looking at him expectantly. 

He looked to Enjolras for help, but he only frowned and then, very quietly, said, “I was going to be a lawyer, wasn’t I?”

Master de Courfeyrac sniffed a little, like he had not just been fetching the painting but also crying. “You had just started law school. You were going to open a law firm with me and Marius after we graduated. You wanted to provide legal resources to the underprivileged and thought working at a conventional firm first would be a waste of time. And you just sort of sucked us into your plan.” Grantaire had trouble imagining Enjolras working with the masters, not just for them, but either way, he couldn’t see what the painting had to do with any of that. 

“Grantaire, do you know where the artist signed this?” Jehan asked, which was a frankly stupid question, because how was Grantaire supposed to know where an unknown artist had signed this unknown painting. Jehan already had plenty of legitimate reasons to punish him without inventing more. 

“I though it wasn’t-” started Master de Courfeyrac, but Jehan hushed him.

“Grantaire, do you remember?” 

He had not magically remembered something he hadn’t known two seconds ago, but he stared at the painting, trying to find it now to please Jehan. His eyes were drawn automatically to Enjolras, no matter how odd the setting was, and then he saw it. There was a miniscule R painted on the sleeve of Enjolras’s jacket, in just a slightly lighter shade of red. 

“I – I painted this?” Even as he said it, he knew it was true. Though he had no idea why he had made it or why he was in it or why Enjolras was the focal point or why Jehan would have displayed this, and then he was on his knees, though he immediately tipped onto his hip with a whimper of pain. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras said as he lightly touched his shoulder. Grantaire managed to look up at him in horror for a single second, and then he ran to the bathroom as fast as he could. Enjolras managed to catch the door with his foot, but Grantaire’s shame made him strong, and he won, ignoring whatever Enjolras was saying as he locked the door behind him. Master de Courfeyrac was yelling, and there was a commotion outside, but Grantaire tried to ignore it as he dug through the bathroom cabinets in a blind panic. 

Even if it didn’t feel real, that painting proved Enjolras had once been a real, normal person, and real, normal people were not supposed to want any kind of relationship with Grantaire, let alone a romantic one, and now that Enjolras remembered, he was going to feel tainted and dirty for having gone anywhere near Grantaire, and Grantaire already knew he couldn’t stand that kind of rejection. 

He had just managed to tear of the clamshell packaging from a new set of disposable razors when the door flew open behind him. Someone knocked the box out of his hands, and someone else wrapped him up in their arms. He squirmed, trying to break free, but he ran out of energy long before Jehan did, for that was who was holding him. “R, just calm down, alright? We all love you, no matter what. No one wants you to hurt yourself.” That was a lie, because Grantaire did very much want to hurt himself, but apparently he hadn’t been included in the poll. Jehan repeated themselves over and over until Grantaire slid to the floor, totally spent. The bathroom was quiet except for the sound of his labored breathing. 

Dr. Combeferre appeared in the door, but Grantaire couldn’t even look up. “I know today has been…a lot to handle so far. I want you both to take a mild sedative and get some rest. Enjolras, I promise we can argue as much as you want later.” Enjolras refrained from arguing then, barely, and quietly took his pill. Grantaire did the same, though he had no desire to argue at any point in time. Or even talk. Or move. Or breathe. “I’ll be out in the family room if you need anything else,” he said.

“We’ll eat whatever you want when you wake up,” promised Jehan, though those were just two more things Grantaire didn’t feel like doing. 

Enjolras left him no choice, guiding him into the bedroom and settling him on the pallet, before locking the door and propping the drawers back up, despite his earlier reassurances. He curled up next to Grantaire, spooning him again like his memories hadn’t quite caught up to his actions yet. He kissed the back of Grantaire’s neck. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.” Grantaire felt himself drifting off, and he tried to pretend like he had imagined those words, so it would hurt a little less when he woke up alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E/R's room was already cleared of anything sharp before they came home from the hospital, so I promise Combeferre is not being totally irresponsible by letting them go to sleep on their own.


	38. Chapter Thirty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this fic is so long, she said as she derailed a whole chapter to make it about it about E/R Feelings. It's a total mystery.

Enjolras wasn’t sure how much longer he could sit still without bursting right out of his skin. He had been disappointed, but not surprised, when he found Grantaire back in the closet, his cheek resting on his knees with his face turned towards the wall. Enjolras wanted to get up and find someone to yell at or find something breakable to smash or find a soundproof room to scream himself hoarse in, but he was determined not to be the first one to move. 

It was uncomfortable, and not just physically, to stay quiet and motionless, while Grantaire blocked out the world, but Enjolras couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He thought he would personally feel better if he could leave and vent out at least some of his anger, but he couldn’t give into temptation. He had done that too often before, felt thwarted enough by Grantaire’s stonewalling that it was easier to leave him alone, and he had to break that cycle. 

He was fairly certain Grantaire didn’t remember their friends, he had been too lost and confused looking at his own painting, but it was clear he understood enough that just Enjolras remembering was very painful. Enjolras could only guess why; he and Grantaire had been friends, were friends, but perhaps Grantaire felt the romantic component of their relationship would disappear now. Enjolras wished desperately that he could just say that wasn’t the case and have Grantaire believe him, and then they could move on to one of their many, many other issues. But he wouldn’t, so Enjolras was going to sit by him for the time being.

Grantaire was no doubt planning to sit in the closet until…something happened. It might sound melodramatic to say Grantaire might sit there until he died, but Enjolras knew Grantaire had the willpower to stay like that until he really hurt himself through sheer neglect, which might even be some of the appeal. But Grantaire would not want Enjolras to suffer like that, so he would have to cave eventually; it felt wrong to manipulate Grantaire like that, but Enjolras was new to this whole business of not letting Grantaire hurt, alone and ignored, and he knew his technique was far from perfect. He would improve next time, because he didn’t doubt there would be more than one next time.

The hardest part of waiting was the inactivity. Master had kept him constantly busy, with tasks Enjolras could now recognize were often invented solely for that purpose, and while there had been plenty of quiet sitting at the hospital, Enjolras had always had to worry what was going to happen next. As strange as the prospect was, if anyone came to the door now, Enjolras could just ignore them and there would be no consequences. His only real concern was that if he and Grantaire didn’t come out for long enough, someone might force their way in out of concern; it was like a bizarre standoff, and Enjolras would just have to trust he could handle both sides.

He wondered where Grantaire went in his mind when he got like this, and Enjolras was almost afraid to know. He decided to use his own time to think. As much courage as it gave him to remember his friends had no intention of hurting him, the whole thing still sounded like a fantasy. It was like hearing a story about himself as a child, too young to remember, but having to trust the teller had no ulterior motive. In this case he had the memories, but there was that same sense of disconnect. Had he really been that close to Combeferre and Courfeyrac? Thinking their names made him a little queasy, even if it was allowed. It wasn’t really that he thought either of his best friends were the horrifying versions his imagination had created; it was that he felt, he knew, he was a different Enjolras than the one they remembered. 

And even if they couldn’t force him to do anything, though it would probably be fair of Jehan to make requests as he and Grantaire were living in their apartment, his stomach still twisted thinking about it. Their friends had been extremely tolerant and forgiving of his bizarre and frankly inappropriate behavior, despite what must have been plenty of personal discomfort, but now they knew he remembered and they knew he wasn’t afraid to “disobey” and they would expect him to behave normally. Enjolras thought he could try, but that’s all it would be, just trying, just play-acting a part, and he would crack under the strain. 

He wondered if he should offer to leave, try to find an apartment for him and Grantaire far away from wherever their friends all lived, and while the idea was appealing for the notion that he could keep anyone and everyone out and there really would be no one to listen to, even he had to take a step back and acknowledge he didn’t know how to get the money to pay for something like that or how to coordinate moving all their belongings or even handling any of the basic but necessary tasks that would involve going outside. 

He should’ve been a lawyer at this point in his life, but now he was terrified by the idea of having to go grocery shopping. He took what felt like countless deep breaths while reminding himself all these other worries were secondary compared to Grantaire. Enjolras had not the faintest idea how pursuing art as a career worked, but he knew that’s what Grantaire had started doing, and he was sure Grantaire had excelled, but now he was hurting too badly to do anything but cower in the closet in misery. Enjolras continued to wait.

“You don’t have to stay,” Grantaire finally mumbled at the wall. Enjolras let out a silent sigh of relief. Not just because Grantaire had spoken, but because he hadn’t asked Enjolras to leave or something similar. Enjolras would’ve guessed a request like that was a cover or a misguided sacrifice, but he wanted to honor Grantaire’s requests. Grantaire deserved nothing less. 

“I know,” Enjolras agreed, pushing all his tempestuous feelings down so that Grantaire wouldn’t feel like they were directed at or because of him.

“You can’t stay there forever,” Grantaire pointed out. Enjolras wasn’t surprised Grantaire had guessed his plan; Grantaire had probably known from the start and tried to wait him out anyway. 

“I’m willing to try,” Enjolras said, trying to strike a balance between serious and playful. He wanted Grantaire to know he had no plans to get up but also that he wasn’t upset about it. Grantaire didn’t reply, though Enjolras felt like he was talking to a person now, instead of a brick wall. “Grantaire, nothing has to change between us just because I remember.”

Grantaire laughed, but it was bitter and weary. 

“Grantaire, I’m completely serious.”

“But for how much longer?” Before Enjolras could reply, Grantaire plowed on. While Enjolras had been thinking, Grantaire had apparently been winding himself up as tight as he could go. “Please, Enjolras, I can’t – I can’t handle dragging it out. It’ll be better if it’s fast, like ripping off a band-aid. I’ll be fine. You shouldn’t let me hold you back from moving on.”

“You tried to hurt yourself,” Enjolras pointed out as gently as he could manage. He left the “again” unspoken, not wanting to shame Grantaire back into silence. He didn’t think there was anything to be ashamed about; if Grantaire was so hopeless and depressed he had no other outlet than self-harm, it was a product of his awful situation, not a personal failing. The only problem Enjolras could see was that he didn’t know how to give Grantaire the help he so terribly needed, but Grantaire disagreed, and that was valid, too. 

“It’s not fair to ask you to stay with me just because I’m fucked up. That’s the whole reason you should get rid of me.”

“I’m not staying with you because you’re ‘fucked up.’ I’m staying with you because I love you. I want – I want you to be happier, Grantaire, but I would never leave you because you’re sad.” 

“I’m not just going to get over it,” Grantaire snapped, sudden and ferocious enough that Enjolras flinched. “You shouldn’t saddle yourself with someone like me.”

“I’m not expecting you to get over it.” It almost gave Enjolras vertigo, but he tried to channel the patience Combeferre had shown even as Enjolras threw things at him for no real reason; Grantaire was doing much the same thing to him now, just with words instead of hangers. “Grantaire, you were always so patient with me when I was hurt and couldn’t do all my chores. I want to do the same for you.”

Grantaire’s shoulders slumped a little more. “I couldn’t always take the best care of you like I wanted,” and Enjolras hated that that was the message Grantaire had taken away from that. But before he could protest, Grantaire added, “Besides, that’s totally different.”

“It’s not different, and you know that.” Whether that was true or not, it had been the wrong thing to say, and just by the subtle shift of Grantaire’s body, Enjolras knew the tenuous conversation was over, at least for now. “Grantaire, I’m sorry.” Enjolras hated to think of all the other times he should’ve apologized to Grantaire and hadn’t. “If I get you some food, will you eat it?”

Grantaire did shrug, which Enjolras thought was a positive sign, until Grantaire’s shoulders still moved slightly once back in place. He wished Grantaire would just tell him why Enjolras trying to do something nice for him was distressing enough to cause tears, but Enjolras had promised he would try to learn, and he didn’t think pressing Grantaire was exactly going to make him feel better. But he didn’t want to just get up and walk away when Grantaire was still so uncertain. 

“Grantaire, I’m just leaving to get you something to eat. Nothing else. I promise I’ll come right back. Will you be alright by yourself?”

Enjolras almost thought Grantaire was not going to reply, but at last he said, “They might not let you come back. You were so – you threw things at Dr. Combeferre.” 

Enjolras almost blurted out that Grantaire didn’t need to address Combeferre with a title anymore, but Grantaire didn’t remember that was the case, and it would undoubtedly only make him more miserable if he felt Enjolras was upset with him for doing something so far outside his control. Enjolras liked to think that, if their positions had been reversed, he would believe Grantaire if he said titles were unnecessary, but he knew he actually would’ve just assumed Grantaire had been manipulated into setting a trap for him. 

“Would you rather come with me, Grantaire? You should rest, but I don’t want you to have to worry about us being separated ever again.” 

“You couldn’t stop them if they wanted to.” The straightforward tone stung, but Enjolras tried to let it pass and then realized Grantaire was completely correct. As much as he believed none of their friends would separate them, and as much as he knew no one had the right to do that ever, he had to admit if Jehan or Courfeyrac or Combeferre wanted to overpower him, it wouldn’t be difficult at all. Even after a medicated nap, he was tired and drained and a little sore. 

“I promise they won’t. Why don’t we go out together?” Enjolras had no idea what he would do if he were wrong. He half-expected Grantaire to refuse, either outright or by inaction, but the other man finally stood, drowning in his comforter. Enjolras didn’t think he had ever seen Grantaire’s bed, but he guessed now this comforter was Grantaire’s, just as the one on the floor was his, and it was hard to see Grantaire not recognize this as well. But he needed patience; even if Grantaire never remembered anything, Enjolras would find a way to accept that. 

He cleared the door, but he stopped before opening it. He was suddenly struck by the fact they had no label for their relationship or for each other. It was little wonder Grantaire was so insecure about being abandoned. He loved Enjolras literally more than life itself, but if Enjolras were to walk away, no one would even describe it as a “break-up.” They might even say something sickening, like Enjolras was “moving on.” “What are we, Grantaire?” As important as he suddenly realized a label was, he had no idea what would appeal to Grantaire. Lover sounded weird to him and would probably be uncomfortable for Grantaire, boyfriend didn’t quite seem right either after so many years of being together in spirit if not in name, maybe partner would be best?

“Well, I’m a ticking time bomb. So I guess that makes you the innocent bystander that will get blown up in the explosion.” 

Enjolras thought he could’ve laughed at that, in some other world at some other time, but Grantaire was quite earnest. “Grantaire, I’m here for you, no matter what you need. I just – I want – no, never mind. I was being selfish and pushing. We don’t need a label. I’ll just say we’re together.” Grantaire’s reluctance made Enjolras reconsider if he was really doing this for Grantaire’s sake, or for his own. Just because it would be easier to tell their friends they were staying together because they were actually together, didn’t mean he had to; he could find a different way to present it.

“What do you want us to be?” Grantaire asked after some consideration. Enjolras was starting to wish he had never brought this up, if Grantaire was only going to cave to what Enjolras wanted. But he had no idea how to back out now without doing serious damage to Grantaire’s psyche. 

“I don’t want you to agree just because I suggested it, but do you like the term partner?”

“Really?” Enjolras was stunned by how surprised but hopeful Grantaire suddenly became. He hated that he had been so wrapped up in everything else that he had neglected this most important thing. He couldn’t think of a single time when it had been in Grantaire’s power to help him but he had not. 

“Yes, really. Grantaire, I love you.”

Grantaire blushed, but then he snapped again. “You need to stop.”

“Stop what? I’m sorry. We can drop this whole thing if you want.”

“You need to stop loving me! You should leave and go back to school and become a lawyer and have a life!”

“Grantaire, there’s no reason I can’t do all of that with you.”

“I’m just going to hold you back.” Enjolras was starting to get concerned Grantaire would simply retreat back to the closet and total silence.

“Grantaire, can I hug you?” Grantaire stood still, but he allowed Enjolras to pull him into his arms. Enjolras couldn’t feel any of Grantaire’s body, other than his head, where it was resting on his shoulder. “Grantaire, listen, this is – I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to do any of this. I don’t know how to have an adult relationship. I don’t know how to deal with friends I haven’t seen in years and that I’ve made feel incredibly awkward. I don’t know how to have a career or pick my own place to live or function in the real world. I don’t know how to stop thinking everyone wants to hurt me, even if I know they don’t. The only thing I know any more is that I love you and I want to be with you.” 

There was a long silence before Grantaire asked, “You’ve never been with anyone?” Enjolras initially thought this was another case of Grantaire missing the point, except this must be the point from his perspective.

“I briefly dated someone in high school, if you could call it that. We pretended like we were better than every other teenage couple because it was all very secretive and covert, but I think he was really just scared of being outed and it kept me from having to deal with any awkward questions about sex.”

“What, did you both interrupt class to make speeches that were secret codes about how much you loved each other?”

Enjolras huffed, but then, “Wait, do you remember what I used to be like?” It would be good if Grantaire were regaining his memory but probably disappointing when he compared past Enjolras with his present incarnation. 

“What? No – no, I don’t think so. But that’s what I painted you doing, wasn’t it?” Grantaire sounded a little hesitant, like he guessed wrong and expected to be shamed for it. Enjolras had barely looked at the painting when Courfeyrac brought it out, too focused on Grantaire; maybe he wasn’t doing as awful of a job as he thought. 

“Yes, I think so.” He didn’t elaborate, unsure if giving Grantaire too much information would affect what he remembered. “And we put notes in each other’s lockers, if you really want to know. I think I was more attracted to all the fiction I created around him, rather than who he actually was.” 

“Fuck, Enjolras. That means you really, really can’t be with me.”

“Why? Grantaire, nothing that happened to you was your fault, and it doesn’t change how I feel about you. The point of being together is that we can work through all our issues together.”

“The point of being together,” Grantaire spat out, back to anger, “is to have someone around you that’s not just dead weight. Enjolras, even if I disappeared and only sent you love poems, you know way too much about me to ever create some loveable, fictional version of me to like. And I’m not going to be the one responsible for you dying a virgin, either.”

Enjolras thought this was more than a little dramatic, but it wouldn’t be right to just dismiss what was clearly one of Grantaire’s biggest hang-ups about their relationship. “Grantaire, I’ve told you, I won’t be upset if you’re never comfortable enough to have sex. That’s not a deal-breaker for me. And I love you for who you are. It’s much better than having what was basically just a pretend boyfriend. It’s not really that interesting to essentially date yourself.” 

“You’ll really stay with me?” And now Grantaire was back to quiet and hopeful. 

“Yes, I really will. I want to go out there and tell them that.”

There was a pause, and Enjolras was worried the cycle was going to repeat itself, that he had made no progress after all. But what Grantaire said was, “I can’t – I can’t go with you. I don’t want to see – to see how they react.”

“Grantaire, they can’t stop us from being together.”

“But they know. They’ll know you’re with someone…dirty.”

“You’re not dirty! And I don’t think anyone of them will judge you for it.” Enjolras decided to hedge, in case he had miscalculated and accidently set Grantaire up for pain and rejection further down the road. 

“Just – can I stay here?” Grantaire sounded like a lost and tired child, and even if he were playing it up a little, Enjolras couldn’t help but be moved. He probably wouldn’t be able to face anyone either, if he felt like they blamed him for the abuse he had endured, and his had been much less complicated than Grantaire’s.

“Of course. You can do whatever you want.” Enjolras did take the opportunity to walk Grantaire back to their pallet, rather than the closet. Grantaire curled up on his side and let Enjolras tuck him in. Enjolras kissed his temple once the final blanket was in place. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Grantaire hummed, eyes closed, and Enjolras wondered if he might fall asleep again. He would have to get something that wouldn’t be unpleasant to eat cold.

After he quietly shut their door behind him, Enjolras stood in the hall, suddenly paralyzed. It was easy to know his friends wouldn’t hurt him when he was safely locked away from them, but having to go face them of his own volition was a different matter altogether. And while Combeferre wouldn’t hurt him, he had every right to be angry with how Enjolras had behaved. But Grantaire was waiting, and if he stayed awake, he would probably get more nervous by the second. 

Enjolras found the three of them sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea. Except that was inaccurate, since Jehan was the only one actually drinking, while Combeferre stared down into his full mug, looking very tired, and Courfeyrac pushed his back and forth, mesmerized by the wet lines that trailed behind it. “Hello, Enjolras,” Jehan said pleasantly, when they noticed him standing there, since Enjolras was at a loss on how to initiate a normal conversation, like a normal person would normally do. “Do you feel better after your nap?”

Combeferre was watching him closely, maybe secretly irritated from earlier or just wondering about his charges’ health, but Courfeyrac was still pushing his mug around with his shoulders set and was managing to look everywhere but at Enjolras. He looked…awkward. Enjolras wondered with a growing horror how loud he and Grantaire had been during their talk. He had been so intent that he hadn’t even paid attention to their volume. If he were embarrassed, he could only imagine how deeply ashamed Grantaire would be; his only hope was that even if they had been audible, they hadn’t been intelligible. But he couldn’t get derailed; no matter how any of them actually felt, they couldn’t make him do, or not do, anything. 

“Grantaire and I are together.” Jehan blinked a few times, and Enjolras was about to ready to bolt, when he realized it might just be from the awkwardness of Enjolras not answering their actual question and saying something unrelated instead. 

Jehan smiled, and Enjolras was glad he hadn’t run away like a scared child. “That’s wonderful, Enjolras. I hope you make each other very happy.” 

“You can’t stop us. And you can’t say that and then separate us,” Enjolras said, wishing he could stay calm but firm for this, but he couldn’t. He was never going to forget the terror of waking up and having no idea where Grantaire was. 

“No one is going to separate you,” Jehan said, though they looked a little hurt. “And you’re allowed to be in a relationship with whoever you like, Enjolras.”

“I don’t want to be in a relationship with anyone else!” Was Jehan going to try to pair him with someone else? Again he felt the desire to bolt and hide with Grantaire. 

“Shh, Enjolras, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just trying to say I support you. We all support you.”

“Why didn’t Grantaire want to come with you?” Courfeyrac asked, not looking up from the patterns he was still tracing on the table. There was a soft thud, and based on the wounded look Courfeyrac shot Combeferre, Enjolras guessed he had been kicked by the other. 

“He’s tired,” Enjolras said shortly, and that was true enough. It was more like exhausted and terrified, but no one else needed to know that. 

“It’s perfectly normal to still need a lot of rest,” Combeferre said calmly, though he was looking at Courfeyrac and not at Enjolras. “And you can always ask me or Joly if you have any concerns.”

Enjolras wasn’t really sure what the message was, but Courfeyrac seemed to get it. “Sorry, Enjolras. I shouldn’t have asked that. I really am happy for both of you.”

“I am, too,” Combeferre said, quiet but warm. Enjolras wasn’t sure how to react with everyone agreeing with what he had said. He was used to begging and pleading for mercy and almost never getting any. He had expected a shouting match, or at the very least a civil argument, but maybe he had been the only one. Courfeyrac might still look a little uneasy, but that was such a mild reaction it didn’t even register. 

“Combeferre, can you help me with lunch?” Jehan asked, even though Enjolras knew it was only a one-person task, but Combeferre got up and followed Jehan into the kitchen. 

Courfeyrac finally looked up at Enjolras. It looked like he had been crying not too long ago. “I just want you to be happy, Enjolras.” He also seemed to want Enjolras to say something, but Enjolras didn’t; he had no idea where this was going. Courfeyrac had kept him away from Grantaire as much as Combeferre had, but he was too tired now to unleash another tirade. “Do you remember what’s going to happen now that the arraignment is done?”

Enjolras didn’t like being spoken to like this, since Courfeyrac already knew the answer, but he wanted to get back to Grantaire as soon as their food was ready. “The…indictment?”

Courfeyrac beamed, and Enjolras realized with shame this wasn’t the first time Courfeyrac had expected him to understand what was happening with their case in the legal world, but it was the first time he could actually answer. “Do we have to go?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Though of course you should discuss it with Grantaire before you make a decision,” and Enjolras appreciated that. “There’s, well, there’s enough evidence for an indictment without either of you needing to testify. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. They didn’t read the charges today, but the prosecution is going to go through them in detail for the grand jury.”

“Oh.” It made sense, and Enjolras must have already understood on some level that the police knew what had happened, even if only in overview, but it made his skin crawl to realize people, people he didn’t even know, we’re going to talk about what had happened to him. What had happened to Grantaire. Even if he could intellectually understand that he wasn’t really a bad boy, that he had done nothing wrong, hearing the effects of his punishments described would be horrible. Especially if their friends were there. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like for Grantaire. 

“No, we won’t go,” he said. He could come back out and tell Jehan if Grantaire did disagree, but Enjolras didn’t want to go back and have to ask Grantaire if he would like to hear the details of his rapes discussed and explained and considered. He wanted to show Grantaire he would protect him from that. Though he would also have to explain to Grantaire he hadn’t declined because he felt Grantaire really was dirty and just didn’t want to hear all the details. 

“That’s fine,” Courfeyrac said. “It will probably start next week, maybe even this week at the rate your case is going. And it’ll take a few days to…present everything, so just let me know if either of you change your minds.”

“We made you some sandwiches,” said Jehan, reappearing with a plate of finger sandwiches arranged in the shape of heart. It would’ve been trite if anyone else had assembled them. “I know your schedule has been all messed up today, but if you feel up to it, could you both come out when you’re hungry for dinner? Éponine will be back then.”

She had been conspicuously absent, and Enjolras idly wondered if she’d be sad to have missed the whole throwing-things-at-Combeferre episode. He took the plate but then said, “Only if Grantaire wants to.”

“Only if you both want to,” replied Jehan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found some very conflicting things about how grand juries work from the victim's perspective, so I just sort of made something up...what else is new? ;)


	39. Chapter Thirty-nine

Éponine opened the apartment door as quietly as she could, afraid to disturb whatever might be happening inside. She half-expected the apartment to have been razed, which didn’t make any actual sense since the building as a whole was perfectly fine, but she didn’t doubt Enjolras could disregard the space-time continuum if he was motivated enough. 

But not only was her apartment just fine, Enjolras, along with his shadow-Grantaire, was nowhere in sight. Jehan was sitting alone on the sofa, and though there was soft classical music playing, they were knitting at a rather frantic pace. She put her shopping bags down so that she could hang up her coat. It was still weird to see Grantaire and Enjolras’s coats next to hers, and it was weird knowing they were there because they would wear them soon enough, not because she was failing to come to terms with her grief. 

“You should’ve said you needed me to stop by the craft store.” Jehan looked up and frowned a little, though they didn’t stop knitting. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll need more yarn soon.” They looked back down and seem surprised when they realized just how much had gotten done.

“Éponine, you wouldn’t even know what to buy,” they said, not unkindly.

“I know that. I said you should’ve told me to go, not that I would’ve actually gone.” 

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Jehan remarked wryly, but they didn’t smile. She moved her bags to the table and then flopped down on the sofa next to them, when they were in between stiches, and shut her eyes. 

“How bad was it, then?”

“The arraignment went as well as could be expected.” There was a rustle and then the music was a little bit louder, so no one could eavesdrop. Éponine opened her eyes to look at Jehan in surprise, but she caught her head mid-turn.

“Oh shit.” Grantaire’s painting was propped up against the opposite wall, completely uncovered and in full view of anyone coming out from the bedrooms. “Fuck, Jehan. This isn’t some sort of rogue therapy exercise you’re trying, is it?”

Jehan’s hands stilled. “Enjolras remembered.” Éponine was too stunned to even swear again. She had hoped, they had all hoped, that it would happen, but it was still a shock that it actually had. “I suppose he could tell we used to have something hanging above the sofa and made an educated guess it was the painting Grantaire made of all us.” 

When it was deemed time to move Grantaire and Enjolras’s belongings into storage, Combeferre had gotten everyone together to select their favorites from Grantaire’s work to display or keep close, before putting the rest…somewhere safe for art. She wasn’t really sure what that involved, but Feuilly had given his seal of approval, and that was enough for her. Combeferre had thoughtfully given her, Jehan, Joly, and Bossuet first pick, and Jehan had politely asked if they could take the painting Grantaire had made of the whole group, right before graduation. They had actually asked for the “senior project” painting, though they, like her, knew Grantaire had painted it because he was afraid their group of friends would drift apart, and he wanted a memento of them. 

Éponine hadn’t had a problem with Jehan taking it, since it only reminded her of how she had not gone to college, which was petty as shit because Feuilly had been nothing but enthusiastic when Grantaire shyly showed everyone the finished piece, but it had grown on her since she and Jehan had moved in together. Grantaire had painted her next to him at his table, surveying the group and smiling. She hadn’t exactly been happy or content then, but Grantaire had painted her that way regardless. It had made her sad to take it down to their storage locker, but no one had had any idea how Grantaire or Enjolras might react to seeing it.

“Does Grantaire remember?” she asked, not taking her eyes from the painting. It must be a fucking trip to look at something you made but have no memory of making it. That was literally what some people did when they tripped. Did Grantaire even remember he was an artist at all? She hoped he did, because even though he worked really hard it, despite his best efforts to pretend he didn’t, he had plenty of natural talent. That couldn’t be taken away from him. 

“I think that might be more of a question for Cosette.” Éponine shot them a look. Just because Enjolras remembered, it didn’t mean he or Grantaire were ready for therapy. “Éponine, I just don’t know. Grantaire was very distressed when he saw the painting and didn’t seem to recognize it, but he found his signature when I asked him to look for it. I don’t know how the mind works. I don’t know if his subconscious remembered or if he was just naturally looking at Enjolras or if he just found it out of luck.”

“I thought the point of being a poet was to be an expert on the mind.”

“Being a poet doesn’t have to have a point,” Jehan said sharply, before they softened. “Poetry is about the heart, not the mind. And it’s the very definition of ‘an art, not a science.’ And I think science will be more helpful in this case.”

“Does Joly appear if you say that three times in the mirror?” she asked in way of apology, before deciding she should suck it up and actually apologize. “I’m sorry, Jehan, you’ve had a long day, too. Let me make you some tea before you kick me out.”

“I’ll only kick you out if you microwave the water again,” they said, stern, before smiling. 

“Will it be authentic enough for you if I build a fire to boil the water?” 

“Considering that would probably burn down the apartment, the electric kettle will be sufficient.” 

“Ah, yes, the patented Hipster Method. Coming right up.” 

As she waited for the water to heat, Jehan called, “How was your shopping?” The question made her nervous, because it meant they were trying to tactfully turn the conversation to how she had spent her day. She wondered how good the chances were of Enjolras storming out any time soon and rescuing her.

“Well, I don’t know if I should be happy or concerned that buying adult-sized onesies was so simple.” She rifled through Jehan’s tea cabinet until she found something uncaffeinated and not too weird. It took longer than she expected, even though she should’ve known better by now. When she tipped the kettle over the sink to shake out the last drops of water inside, she noticed the number of dirty cups sitting in it. “Shit. You didn’t tell me it was bad enough Combeferre and Courfeyrac had to stay for tea.”

Jehan opened and shut their mouth as she carried their fresh cups over, and she was not-so-secretly glad she had been able to derail their planned conversation, at least for now. “Courfeyrac wanted to stay to talk to them about what was going to happen next, but they needed a rest first.”

“You sound way too sad for that to be the whole story.”

Jehan looked at their tea way too sadly. “Enjolras wasn’t exactly calm when he remembered. He was so angry, and he couldn’t really explain what he wanted.”

“Of course he couldn’t.” Éponine was sometimes still surprised Enjolras hadn’t remained mute, after everything he had gone through.

“I’m not blaming him,” Jehan said apologetically. “But it came out that he still harbors a lot of resentment towards Ferre for what happened at the hospital. I think he still doesn’t really realize how sick he himself was and that Ferre just didn’t want him to hurt himself or make Grantaire worse. I think he was, and still is, so confused, he doesn’t know we felt, and still feel, the same way. But it was really hard for Courf to watch that.”

“He really wanted everything to go back to normal right away,” she admitted to Jehan.

“I had guessed as much. It was probably even harder for him to sit by and watch his best friend throwing things at his boyfriend, than if Enjolras directed it at him.”

“Fuck, way to bury the lede, Jehan. Next time you should start with the fact Enjolras went from subservience to actually throwing shit.” She should’ve made more tea.

“It was just so sad to see. It’s easy to pretend Enjolras is better because he’s showing his anger, and that’s more like the man we remember, but it’s really not the same. He’s still angry with what he perceives as injustices, but he can’t channel it in any meaningful way. He’s just full of rage and doesn’t know how to direct it.”

“Do you think the arraignment stirred all this up?”

“I can only assume. He had some sort of episode right after, but we all just thought it was from having to see that monster again. He was acting a little differently when we got home, but Combeferre thought all he needed was some rest. Which I think he did get, but then he flew out here to tell us he and Grantaire were officially together and to ask for the painting.”

Éponine carefully set her cup down and then buried her head in her hands. “Jehan, they finally got their shit together and you didn’t open with that immediately? This is your area of expertise!”

Jehan quietly sat their cup down too. “I’m just worried about them.”

“Jehan, if you tell them their relationship is a bad idea, I will find the heaviest things we own for Enjolras to throw at you.” Was she the only one to see how badly the two of them needed each other?

“I would never do that. They’re both adults, and I know Enjolras would never do anything without Grantaire’s explicit consent. I am concerned though that Enjolras came alone to tell us. We both know how unworthy of Enjolras Grantaire felt before all of this. I fear how much the years of mental and sexual abuse have damaged his self-worth. If they had gotten together before, Grantaire would’ve been ludicrously happy, but now I think he’s ashamed for us to know. You know he tends to project. I’m so worried he thinks we all think he’s unworthy of Enjolras, and I can’t fault him for twisting it like that. He has so much to cope with, on top of all the self-hatred. The two of them finally being together might just be too much, in its own peverse way.”

“Fuck.” Éponine had no other words. If she had been given more time to process the news, she would’ve come to the conclusion that Grantaire was going to focus on how others might hurt him to stop from hurting himself, which is what Jehan had said, much more eloquently. “What can we do?”

“That’s another thing I don’t know. I want to talk to Cosette. For me – not for them. I’m sure she’ll have some suggestions on how I can best support them in this. The last thing I want to do is blunder around and make the whole thing worse.”

“Jehan, whatever the hell the opposite of blundering is, you’re pretty much the physical embodiment of that. You have to trust yourself a little bit more.”

“Do you really mean that?” they asked, looking intently at her. Shit, no. Jehan should trust themselves, except when it came to her. All their Éponine-related ideas were definitely, totally, absolutely wrong. “Éponine, you have to tell them tonight. I’m sure Enjolras has noticed you’ve been gone, and I think if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with other things, he would’ve asked about it by now.”

Éponine stared back and then sighed. “I know you’re right, Jehan.” She liked it more when Jehan was right about other people. “Should I put on a Kevlar vest first or what?”

Jehan looked thoughtful before shaking their head. “This is only my best guess, but I think Enjolras won’t be that angry, or he’ll at least recognize his anger is irrational. He’ll remember you had a difficult home life growing up, and I don’t think he’ll hold it against you.” Jehan looks at her very hard again. “Éponine, you didn’t actually do anything wrong, you know. Though it’s perfectly normal to feel guilty anyway.”

“Shit. You sound like you’ve already talked to Cosette. Don’t tell me you’re her in disguise.” 

“I don’t think even Cosette is dedicated enough to learn how to knit like this for the sole purpose of impersonating me.”

“That’s exactly what Cosette-in-disguise would say.” They fell into an almost comfortable silence. “Do you think they won’t come out again until tomorrow?” She did her best to sound neutral.

“No,” Jehan said immediately. “Enjolras will want Grantaire to have dinner.” They were quiet again. Éponine tried to practice what she had to say in her head, but she couldn’t really make it much further than “hello.” 

“You should give Grantaire the onesies,” she did say to Jehan. “I don’t want him to think it’s a weird apology gift or that I’m trying to buy his forgiveness.”

“No,” Jehan said right away again. “I’m not going to take credit for your idea.” Éponine huffed but didn’t argue. She tried to doze but was too on edge. 

Apparently she wasn’t the only one on edge because Enjolras snuck up, before attracting their attention by blurting out, in a very accusatory tone, “You said we could have dinner.” If Éponine didn’t know him, Jehan was right, she would have simply described him as angry. But she did know him, and she could hear the lingering fear and not a little shame behind the anger. Plus, Grantaire was not with him, which meant Enjolras thought he needed to stay somewhere “safe.”

“Hello, Enjolras.” Jehan was calm, like this was a normal conversation. It almost was normal at this point. “Of course you can eat if you’re hungry. Let me heat something up for both of you.” They busied themselves in the kitchen, while Enjolras stared at Éponine, and she was worried he was going to ask where she had been, before she was quite ready to explain, but he looked away to the painting.

“Why haven’t you hung it back up?” he asked, angrier and less ashamed. “Do you not think it's good?”

“We all think it’s very good,” Jehan soothed, “but we didn’t know if Grantaire would feel comfortable with that. We can ask him, if you like.” Enjolras flushed and stared at the ground. Éponine thought Cosette might criticize him for not taking Grantaire’s feelings into account on his own, but she was just glad Enjolras wanted Grantaire’s art prominently displayed. Grantaire would pretend to be embarrassed, but it was the kind of demonstrative affection he craved.

Enjolras disappeared and then returned with Grantaire, who looked very sad for someone who had just gotten together with the man of his dreams. “Grantaire, can I put your painting back up?” he asked, loudly enough to make it clear Jehan was meant to hear. 

Grantaire looked between the painting, Enjolras, and the wall, back and forth and back and forth, until he shrugged and mumbled something Éponine couldn’t hear. Enjolras squeezed him and replied just as quietly, before marching purposefully over and picking up the painting. The canvas was heavier than he must have expected, because he wobbled before catching his balance and hauling it over to the sofa. His face was set as he clambered up on the sofa and fitted the painting back onto the nails in the wall. Éponine almost offered to help, but she thought Grantaire would like it better if Enjolras did this alone.

She only saw Grantaire’s face briefly when Enjolras went back to his side, but he was pink and surprised. She wasn’t surprised. Only Grantaire would think Enjolras would save his life and then defy all the supposed rules to get back to him, but not love him. Enjolras was a little pink too, and he didn’t betray any signs of frustration or impatience with Grantaire’s disbelief. That did surprise her a little.

“Éponine got you some things today, Grantaire,” Jehan said as the microwave hummed, gesturing to the table. Grantaire and Enjolras both went stiff, and Grantaire didn’t protest when Enjolras looked in the bags first. 

“I thought you might feel safer in a onesie,” she explained. “But I can take them back if you don’t like them.”

Grantaire clutched up himself beneath his comforter and looked up, tears welling in his eyes. Fuck. This had been a horrible idea. He looked at Enjolras and then Jehan. “Please, you said I was allowed to wear Enjolras’s clothes.” 

“Of course you are,” Jehan soothed again. “You can wear whatever you like, Grantaire. Éponine just thought a onesie would be nice. You could always put Enjolras’s hoodies on over them, if you want to wear both.” Grantaire wiped his eyes quickly and roughly by pushing the comforter up from the inside. 

“Now, do you feel up to eating at the table?” Jehan asked, holding up two plates. 

Enjolras looked up, all softness gone. He stared at Jehan, but he was tense, like it was a real effort. “What’s going to happen afterwards?” He shifted his grip on Grantaire until he looked ready to shove him back down the hall at a moment’s notice. 

“I have some shit to talk about with you,” Éponine admitted, because if she lied, Enjolras would find out very soon and be very, and understandably, angry. 

“I’m sorry we seem to have gotten into the habit of doing unpleasant things after meals,” Jehan apologized. “But Combeferre and Joly want to make sure you’re eating enough, and we don’t want to make you too upset to do that.” Enjolras’s face flashed at the mention of Combeferre’s name, and Éponine made a mental note to try to find something funny to send to Courfeyrac later to cheer him up. 

“We’ll eat here. But on the floor,” Enjolras conceded, and he made a rather large show of getting Grantaire settled in the corner of the breakfast nook before sitting down next to him. She couldn’t see them around the table, which was probably for the best, since Grantaire’s comforter would have to be partially removed to free his arms, and he obviously wanted to hide his body as much as possible. Jehan puttered about the kitchen but kept their gaze averted out of respect as well. 

Éponine ran through the names of Jehan’s plants in her head as she waited, since they had forced her to learn after being horrified by her invented names, such as “the large green one” and “the small green one.” Enjolras and Grantaire would be perfectly in the right to ask her to leave, and while she agreed, it really fucking hurt. She had barely left their bedside and was trying the best she knew how, and now her past was back again to fuck up her life. Again. She should’ve known Courfeyrac’s questions at the hospital were nowhere near the end of it. 

Enjolras got up when he and Grantaire had finished, not making an effort to avoid running into Jehan as he put their plates in the sink. He couldn’t see Jehan’s expression behind him, but it was horrifically sad. He retrieved Grantaire from the floor but then stood awkwardly at the edge of the family room. Despite his bravado, Éponine had to wonder what Enjolras imagined would happen, and how horrible he imagined it would be. 

“Do you want to sit down?” she offered, because that meant she didn’t have to say anything real. 

“No.” 

“It might be better if you do,” Jehan encouraged. “We want you to be comfortable.”

Enjolras frowned and then seated Grantaire on the sofa as far from Éponine as possible. He remained standing, one hand resting between Grantaire’s shoulders. 

“OK. I just want to say if you want me to leave and never come back, I will. I understand if you hate me.” She knew Jehan was now giving her that horrifically sad look, but she focused on Grantaire. She made several false starts before she realized she didn’t know how to be anything but blunt. “The man – the monster who did this to you. I – I know him.” There was no reaction, so she kept going. “I was a teenager. Fuck, I didn’t just know him. I slept with him. I’m sorry.”

She glanced up when Enjolras didn’t immediately explode, but she saw that was because he was completely focused on Grantaire’s reaction. Which was just to stare silently at his lap. “I understand if you feel betrayed,” she added lamely. “I didn’t know until now. I didn’t want you to see I was upset and think it had anything to do with you. And I didn’t want there to be any chance of him seeing me at the arraignment and trying to contact me to get information on you. Because that would be fucking disgusting. And it would be awkward if Courf had to defend me for murder.” 

No one laughed. Grantaire still did nothing. There was no way Éponine could’ve known sleeping with the one young, attractive guy her father ran with as a lonely teenager, secretly lusting after not him but any attention she could get, bad or good, would cause her best friend so much pain so many years later, but she still wished she could go back in time and undo it. She wanted to actually go visit her father in prison, just so she could scream at him for ruining her life. She even wanted to try bribing the prison guards to look the other way while she beat Montparnasse to a bloody pulp, and that was just to start with. She knew Jehan wouldn’t approve of a rape for a rape, or rigid gender roles, but if his fellow prisoners found out what he did and noticed how decidedly feminine he could be and chose to do something about that, she wasn’t about to lose sleep over it.

It was Enjolras who spoke first. “Why didn’t you find us?” The anger was entirely gone now. He sounded like a lost and lonely child. She found herself afraid to wonder why Enjolras had lost faith in his friends. Maybe he hadn’t for a long, long time, and that was why the brainwashing was necessary. “You were supposed to find us.” Enjolras’s voice was growing high and shrill.

“Enjolras, the police didn’t have any leads. We did everything we could think of to find you. I swear we did.” Jehan was quiet but intense. “If we had known where you were, we would’ve been there in a heartbeat. We never would’ve left you to suffer if it had been in our power to stop it. We would’ve killed him if we had to.” Maybe Jehan would like Éponine’s fantastical plan more than she thought.

“You were supposed to find us,” Enjolras repeated. Jehan was right - Enjolras remembering them didn’t mean he was really better.

“Enjolras,” Éponine said, “I had no idea I knew him. Even if I had known you had been taken by someone my father ran with, I’d probably still be trying to get a list of names from him. Even if I had that list, I’d probably still be on the letter C. Even if I had somehow known Montparnasse had you, I wouldn’t have known where he was, and I never would’ve guessed he was in some little getaway town.” 

“Is that his name?” Enjolras asked after a pause. 

“Did no one tell you?” She wasn’t sure if she should feel bad or not. Enjolras hadn’t asked, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t wanted to know.

“Yes. Do you want us to start referring to him by his name? We never really knew what you would like.” Jehan was much less awkward than Éponine would’ve been, and she was grateful they knew how to say things like this. Or just things in general.

“I don’t know.” Enjolras was very, very quiet. “I never really thought about him having a name.”

“You don’t have to decide now,” Jehan reassured him. “Whatever you want is fine. Changing your mind is fine, too.” Enjolras was clearly thinking about this, but he didn’t say anything else. “Grantaire, sweetheart, how are you feeling?” Jehan asked when Grantaire still hadn’t said anything after a few more minutes.

Grantaire jumped a little, but more like he was startled out of deep thought than pure fear. Enjolras jerked out of his own thoughts and rubbed Grantaire’s shoulders. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said firmly. 

Éponine was pretty sure Grantaire was going to take that option, even though he was making no move to get up, when he whispered, “You’re not dirty.” He was so confused it almost sounded like a question. 

“No, I’m not.” She tried to be firm but gentle like Jehan would be, no idea where Grantaire was going, or if he was even going anywhere at all. 

“You had sex with him, but you’re not dirty.” Grantaire was baffled, like he had never considered the concept.

Enjolras opened his mouth, but then shut it. He visibly struggled but held his tongue. “Grantaire, it's normal to have feelings of shame after being raped, but you don’t need to. It wasn’t your fault, and no one blames you.” Jehan’s words must have been close enough to Enjolras’s thoughts, because he calmed down. 

There was another uncomfortably long silence until Grantaire finally spoke again.“Does that – does that mean I’m not dirty?” 

“No!” the three of them exclaimed at the same time. Enjolras knelt down so he could hug Grantaire to him. 

“Can I – can I use the Internet?” Grantaire asked so quietly Enjolras had to repeat the question for Jehan’s benefit. He looked uneasy. 

Jehan blinked a few times and then brightened. “Of course.” They disappeared into their bedroom and emerged with Grantaire’s tablet. “It’s already set-up to connect to our wifi. This is yours to use. No one is going to pry or check on what you’re doing. The only other thing I did with it was save back-ups of your art. I was just afraid something would happen to your tablet and all that work would be lost. I can give you the drive whenever you want.” This last part didn’t seem to compute, but Grantaire took the tablet and pulled it protectively into his comforter cocoon. 

“I only have one request,” Jehan continued. “It would be best if you didn’t Google yourselves or your case. Musichetta has been following the news coverage, and there’s a lot of horrible comments, which I suppose is par for the course on the Internet. Enjolras, I know you might want to look just to be contrary, and I’m not going to stop either of you, I just want you to please, please consider if seeing what total strangers have to say will be helpful.” Enjolras frowned, since Jehan had seen right through him, but he nodded after looking at Grantaire. Éponine could only imagine what people were saying about him. She wondered how Musichetta kept from finding all those people, safe behind their anonymous online personas, and making them very unsafe in their real life personas. 

Grantaire looked up at Enjolras, who smiled reassuringly and then announced, “We’re going to our room.” It was not quite as abrupt as when he had first shown up. She watched him grab the bags from the kitchen table and then lead Grantaire away.

“That went much better than expected,” Jehan commented mildly.

“Go on, say it.” She rolled her eyes to hide her relief. 

“I’m not going to. I said it was only my best guess.” They looked at her. “Éponine, you can’t expect Grantaire not to blame himself while simultaneously blaming yourself.”

“Sure I can. It’s this fun thing called cognitive dissonance.” To steer the conversation away from her, she asked, “Why do you think R wants the Internet?” 

“I can’t say. Maybe he wants to look up some coping techniques on his own, to start with. Maybe he connects using the Internet with the past, before this happened. Or maybe he just wants to look at cat pictures.”

“Mmm. Well, I’m going to pretend it’s a positive sign he asked for something.”

“You know you’re allowed to ask for things, too, Éponine,” Jehan said, surprising her. “But since I know you won’t, I’m going to go make you some hot cocoa and you’re going to pick us out something to watch.”

“You’re stupid,” Éponine said, but she really meant, “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Montparnasse being their captor was never really meant to be a surprise for the reader. (I mean...he's be in the character list since day one.) I was honestly a little nervous to post this chapter since I know there's a lot of fanon love for him, but I've read literally zero fics with him in it, and I wanted to do my own thing. (That's totally cool if you like him! I guess I'm just confused by some comments I've gotten so far, since, I mean...he's in a gang. Maybe it's because I've always lived near cities with horrible economic blight, but gang members are generally not nice people! Fun fact - my parents had their car stolen in the middle of the day downtown while seeing a production of Les Mis.)
> 
> Also, I double-checked and Eponine and Montparnasse are only two years apart in canon. (I don't know why I thought it was a lot more.) But the point is as long as she was over 13 when they slept together, New York would consider it consensual. 
> 
> Also also, 99% chance there will be no new chapter this weekend. :(


	40. Chapter Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Feelings - this time with some Resolutions!

“Do you want to put one of these on?” Enjolras asked after he had ushered Grantaire back into the room. Grantaire was tempted to say he didn't, because how fucking childish was it that he wanted to wear a onesie? (And how childish was it that he felt it would somehow magically protect him? If he put it on and someone decided to strip him, the process would just be longer, not impossible.) But he was too tired and too unbalanced by Enjolras remembering to lie. And even he couldn't successfully argue onesies were too childish while wrapped in a security blanket that he insisted on dragging literally everywhere with him, including out into public. Enjolras must be so embarrassed. 

But he didn’t look embarrassed or ashamed or even annoyed, just a little tired, as he put the bags down on top of the dresser, after looking at the bed and the desk and shaking his head slightly. Fucking hell, Grantaire couldn’t even interact with furniture like a normal person. He knew damn good and well Enjolras was planning neither to throw him onto the bed and ravish him nor to drag the desk back around and pin Grantaire underneath it, but he just...couldn't act like he knew those things. Why did he suddenly think he could fix, if not everything, at least some things. Or a few things. Or maybe just a couple. Or just one thing. Named Grantaire. 

Enjolras backed away and started fussing with their pallet, even though it didn't need any fussing with. Grantaire set the tablet (because he couldn't remember and it felt to weird to think of anything as his) down on the dresser and looked through the first bag. All of the onesies were solid colors, and he pulled out a gray one. He looked over his shoulder and watched as Enjolras tried to stay occupied without actually having anything to do. It was stupid to appreciate this privacy, because how exactly was he supposed to convince Enjolras to have sex with him when he was afraid to even be partially undressed in front of him? (OK, sure, there were plenty of ways to have sex, but he knew Enjolras wouldn’t believe Grantaire really wanted to if he insisted on remaining fully clothed. Which, even though Enjolras wouldn’t exactly be wrong, it was extremely inconvenient he would feel that way.) It was even stupider when he thought about just how often Enjolras had seen him naked. His subpar math skills didn’t prevent him from guesstimating Enjolras had probably been around a naked Grantaire for much longer than a completely clothed one. It made him wish the dresser had sharper corners to scratch himself with, but it didn’t, and it wouldn't be polite to make Enjolras wait even longer. 

He pulled off Enjolras’s sweatshirt but decided to leave his T-shirt, pajama pants, and socks on. If he was going to be pathetic, he might as well commit completely. There was a zipper down the front of the onesie, and Grantaire felt better once the hoodie was back on and covering it, so that no one could just reach out and pull it open. (Which was still completely and utterly stupid, because it wouldn’t be hard for someone to stick their arm up the hoodie, or just order Grantaire to do it himself.) After he had been still for a little, Enjolras peeked at him. He looked Grantaire up and down quickly, but it was analytical, not predatory. “Is it comfortable?” 

“Yeah.” Grantaire could feel himself going red and turned his head away. Something scratched his neck. “Um, there's a tag.” He gestured awkwardly at his collar. 

“I'll go get some scissors.” Enjolras stood up and gave Grantaire a small smile. “I promise I'll be right back.” Grantaire tried to think about how worried he was while Enjolras was gone, so that he wouldn't think of how awful it was that he couldn't even be trusted with a pair of scissors. He wasn't very successful. For one thing, he had just been thinking about hurting himself again, so no one’s concern was exactly misplaced. (He didn’t even want to know what Enjolras would say if Grantaire tried to argue he didn’t want to hurt himself that much. Just a little.) For another, if Enjolras's earlier behavior hadn't been enough to elicit a punishment from Jehan or Éponine or Dr. Combeferre, asking for a way to cut tags off the clothes Éponine had bought specifically for Grantaire probably wasn't going to, either. (He knew he should worry it was a trap, but there was no need for traps when Enjolras was acting the way he was.) But that only made Grantaire feel more useless. There was only one way for him to be useful to Enjolras now, if he didn't need Grantaire’s protection. 

Enjolras returned before Grantaire could work himself up any further, with a pair of kitchen scissors. “Hold still,” Enjolras commanded as he came behind Grantaire, though Grantaire jumped a little when Enjolras’s fingers brushed the back of his neck. “Sorry,” Enjolras apologized, like he had done something wrong instead of Grantaire. There was more touching as Enjolras fished out the plastic end from inside the onesie, but since he went to the bags and began cutting off the remaining tags, he didn't notice Grantaire trying not to melt into the floor. 

When Enjolras had returned the scissors to whatever Grantaire-free location they had come from, he locked and barricaded the door. “I thought you said they won't hurt us,” Grantaire pointed out to cover his embarrassment, and he instantly regretted it when Enjolras paused. 

“It's stupid,” Enjolras mumbled. 

That wasn't fair. Being stupid was Grantaire’s job. “It's not stupid.” Grantaire didn't even need to know what “it” was. 

“I - I just-” Enjolras stopped and collected himself. “I know they're not going to hurt us, but I'm still afraid they will. It's extremely illogical.” Grantaire could agree it sounded illogical, but it also made sense to him. 

“Would you want to move the desk in front of the door instead?” Grantaire asked, so that he and Enjolras didn't end up stuck in a loop for the rest of the night about whether the whole idea was stupid or not. 

“Yes, but that would be extremely impractical. And I know you wouldn’t like it.” Enjolras hesitated. “I just can't sleep unless I know I'll be woken up if anyone tries to take you away.” 

“That's unfortunate.” Grantaire must be a terribly awful person to have to lose sleep over. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said sharply, though he softened quickly. “The only unfortunate thing is what - what...he did to us.” 

“I can't call him by his name,” Grantaire blurted out, because he couldn't even make it through a single conversation without derailing it. He was afraid that was what Enjolras was going to drive towards, and it would be better to get the disappointment out of the way now.

“I want to.” Enjolras looked very fierce for a moment, but then he sighed and deflated. “But I don't know if I can either. Even if I weren't scared, it just sounds...weird.” 

“There’s no reason to be scared.” Grantaire was scared by the thought of using Master’s name, but he didn’t like that Enjolras was, if Enjolras didn’t want to be. 

Enjolras closed his eyes briefly, and now he did look ashamed. Fuck. Grantaire should’ve kept his mouth shut. “The door isn’t the only thing that’s illogical,” Enjolras admitted, like it was a deep and horrible secret. 

“Enjolras, it’s fine. I understand,” Grantaire said, which was totally inadequate, but it hurt to see Enjolras looking like that, and he didn’t know what else to do. Apparently it hadn’t been the worst thing to say, because Enjolras blinded him with a smile and then approached and kissed his forehead. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept us up. You must be tired.” Grantaire didn’t mind, since he had no intention of sleeping any time soon, but it would be nice to have a few cuddles to bolster his courage first. He wasn’t even going to pretend to lie to himself about that. Enjolras lay down first and then Grantaire joined him, pulling his comforter on top of them once the rest of their blankets were in place. It would be harder to creep out, but Enjolras would be suspicious if there were a change in their routine. Grantaire was surprised he hadn’t asked about the tablet, but maybe he was trying to let Grantaire have some privacy or was simply too tired to consider it. “I love you,” Enjolras mumbled, sounding half-asleep already, and Grantaire started counting slowly in his head after he replied in kind. He hadn’t even made it to fifty when Enjolras’s breathing evened out and the hand resting on Grantaire’s chest relaxed. 

He stopped counting but let himself stay in Enjolras’s arms for awhile, because he was too weak to deny himself. Plus it helped to remind him that Enjolras was happy with him, and a happy Enjolas would be more willing to listen to Grantaire’s arguments in the morning. When Grantaire felt like he was close to dozing off despite his best efforts, he blinked rapidly and then slowly began to slide away from Enjolras. Normally it would’ve been hard for him to be so patient, but the slower he went, the more time he got to spend in contact with Enjolras. Grantaire gently placed Enjolras’s hand back onto his own chest and counted slowly in his head again. After about a minute, Enjolras made a few sounds and settled into a slightly different position, but he didn’t wake up.

Grantaire crept back to the closet and picked up the tablet. He settled into the familiar corner, so that the light wouldn’t disturb Enjolras. He had intended to go online right away, because he couldn’t be the first person to ever have been touched and then want to have sex afterwards. (And maybe he didn’t really want to have sex right that instant, but that would be an easier thing to Google than how to pretend to like having sex to please the only person in life that mattered without it turning into An Argument.) Enjolras had said he was happy enough not sleeping with Grantaire, but Grantaire needed to get a move on before Enjolras realized he would be happy enough without Grantaire altogether (which was totally fair, because Grantaire contributed nothing at the moment) and find a unique way to please Enjolras, that no one else could come usurp. 

It had been a surprise to find out Éponine had also slept with Master, though he still wasn’t really sure why she thought either one of them might be upset about it. It had been a long time ago, but even if it hadn’t, Grantaire wouldn’t have been upset by the principle of Master sleeping with other people, because Grantaire was only a toy for him to use as he saw fit. (He probably would’ve just been upset about this last part, since Master would’ve driven that point in over and over and over.) It had also been confusing to find this out, because he had known Éponine for weeks now, and he knew she wasn’t dirty or disgusting or naughty, and she hadn’t made Enjolras dirty or disgusting or naughty by being around him. Grantaire knew he wasn’t the same as Éponine (her relationship had been consensual, and she was a person, not a toy,) and Grantaire knew he was dirty and disgusting and naughty, but now he thought it wouldn’t automatically rub off onto Enjolras if he dared to touch him.

The whole idea was making him sick and embarrassed, because even if he made it about nothing but Enjolras’s pleasure and avoided touching himself at all, he was going to get aroused, and that wasn’t what this was supposed to be about. He needed to demonstrate to Enjolras, very specifically, why he should choose to keep Grantaire by his side (despite his many, many faults,) and the effect would be ruined if he thought Grantaire was doing it for his own pleasure. And Grantaire knew himself well enough to recognize he couldn’t do that without a little advice. 

His hands shook as he typed in his first search, and he minimized the browser as he tried to catch his breath. How would he explain what he was doing if he woke Enjolras by vomiting all over the room? He managed to calm himself down a bit, but the idea of pulling the browser back up still made him shaky. He stared at the organized desktop folders, which didn’t feel quite right, though he couldn’t say why. Without thinking, he opened the one that said “Art.” It was full of sub-folders, all clearly labeled. Without letting himself think about it, he opened the one marked “Enjolras.” It went on for what looked like forever, the box in the scroll bar very small. He backed out and resorted the folders by size. The Enjolras folder was the largest by far. 

Grantaire peered around the closet door, to where Enjolras was still fast asleep, only his head visible above the covers. Grantaire knew he was missing a lot of his memory, but he couldn’t say he was surprised to realize he had always loved Enjolras. He opened a few files at random. Some of them were digital, some looked like he had scanned them in for safekeeping. He wondered if he had done that with non-Enjolras art, but he didn’t feel like looking. He wanted to pretend this was something special. He wondered if Enjolras knew about this, and he hoped he didn’t. Enjolras could remember, and he might not like knowing that Grantaire had worshipped him like this before anything had even happened. 

Grantaire found the courage to open his browser again, but he realized after a few minutes that he was just staring at the first page of results and not really seeing any of them, let alone clicking on any of them. What did Enjolras remember about him? He hadn’t immediately tossed Grantaire out, so it couldn’t be too horrible, or Grantaire had been good enough to redeem himself. But it was unsettling. What would Enjolras expect him to act like? He went back to his art, but a quick search yielded no works featuring himself (well, at least he concurred with his mysterious past self that it would’ve been a waste, so that was a good sign,) whether alone or with others. But – he was in the painting in the family room.

He looked at Enjolras again, who at some point had rolled onto his back and pulled the covers over his nose. Grantaire wanted so badly to crawl back in next to him, more badly than he had wanted anything before, and that was counting all the times he wanted to be not hungry or not cold or not scared or not aching and lonely. But if he indulged himself now, it would only be temporary, until Enjolras tired of him. He had to convince Enjolras to let him earn his keep so that he could stay, permanently. He moved the drawers away from the door as quietly as he could, even though his hands had started shaking again. He listened at the door but heard nothing, and only a very dim light showed underneath. He longed for his comforter, but he didn’t want Enjolras to get cold without it. 

The apartment was quiet and still. There was a nightlight glowing in the bathroom, and as he tip-toed into the family room, he saw the light under the microwave was on as well. Between that and the light pollution from the balcony door, he could see the painting Enjolras insisted on putting back into place. He stepped on top of the couch cushions and froze when it made a soft sound, but nothing happened. He didn’t feel like studying himself right away, so he instead looked at Enjolras. He looked brave and confident and self-assured, standing in the middle of the group, speaking, and Grantaire worried he was just projecting the Enjolras he loved now into the past as some sort of coping mechanism, but Enjolras also looked happy in the painting, which he rarely was now. Would sex be enough to make Enjolras this happy again? Grantaire had plenty of practice, but even though sex wasn’t the only thing missing from Enjolras’s life, it was the one thing Grantaire alone could provide. As long as Grantaire let Enjolras go in everything else, that would be enough to be worth keeping.

Finally, he made himself look at, well, himself. His hair was longer (and Grantaire didn’t understand why he would wear a hat that didn’t cover all of it, even though he guessed no one was touching it without his consent then) and he had something halfway between stubble and a beard. He touched his smooth face, wondering how much longer it would be until he started growing facial hair again. (He supposed that was the one good thing about this whole thing, it was rather convenient not to have to shave every day.) He thought his hair might have grown out a little from when Éponine had cut it (which was only a very hazy memory that he wouldn’t have trusted if he couldn’t see the results,) and he could probably ask her how long it would take for it to fill out like in the painting. It was a little frightening to consider, but if he kept it covered around everyone but Enjolras, it would be alright. He supposed he could ask Dr. Combeferre or Dr. Joly a similar question, about when he might be able to grow a beard again, but that would be humiliating. Besides, he didn’t even know if Enjolras would like that – maybe the change after years of seeing Grantaire clean-shaven would be too weird. He didn’t know how to ask. 

“R, is everything alright?” Everything was almost not alright, when he just about fell off the couch in surprise, but he caught himself before disaster could ensue. Jehan was standing there in the low light, wearing a dressing gown over their pajamas. (On them, it was definitely a dressing gown and not a robe.) “Oh, I’m sorry, R. I didn’t mean to startle you, I thought you heard me.” How absorbed had Grantaire been in his navel-gazing? Apparently way too fucking much. Master wouldn’t have just surprised him with quiet words, and this would be a bad habit to get into. 

“Sorry,” Grantaire whispered automatically. He had either been shut up at night or in Master’s bed, neither of which allowed for escape, and he had no idea what Jehan might do in response to him roaming their apartment after he had gone to bed. They hadn’t punished Enjolras for anything, but they also didn’t seem to expect Grantaire to ever misbehave, so maybe they would react differently. 

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Jehan reassured him gently. “I just heard you get up and was worried when I didn’t hear anything else for awhile.” Grantaire realized he must like a total idiot still standing on the couch, so he stepped off.

“Sorry,” he repeated. It was no good not disturbing Enjolras if he just disturbed Jehan instead. 

“Are you having trouble sleeping?” Jehan asked, still very gentle. Grantaire didn’t know what he was supposed to say, so he stayed quiet. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make us some sleepy tea?” It was technically a question, but Jehan went to the kitchen before Grantaire could answer, so he obediently sat down. He wondered how he could beg Jehan not to tell Enjolras about any of this. It felt weird and wrong to sit next to Jehan (albeit as far away from them as the couch allowed) and drink tea together, but this was what Jehan wanted, and Grantaire could be good. He could be so good. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but Grantaire had a feeling Jehan was waiting for him to speak. 

“What was I like?” he asked abruptly. Jehan kept sipping their tea, but they were clearly thinking over his question and not just ignoring him. 

“Would it make you feel better to take the painting down, Grantaire? I know Enjolras is very proud of it, but maybe I remiss in letting him take over like that.” Jehan thought Enjolras was proud of Grantaire? Maybe they weren’t the best person to ask questions about this after all. 

“No. I don’t want him to think I’m a coward.” Jehan blinked a few times.

“R, I really don’t think Enjolras believes you’re a coward. And if for some reason he does, I will make him very afraid of me.”

“Did he like me then?” Grantaire asked, since Jehan hadn’t answered his first question. He didn’t know why Jehan watched him so carefully before answering.

“Is it important to you when Enjolras fell in love with you, R?” 

That didn’t seem like a relevant answer either, but Jehan was already being too kind, indulging this whole conversation and not loudly forcing Grantaire back to bed, so he felt he should play along. “It would be best if he never did.” Grantaire started to congratulate himself on at least pretending to be selfless, when he noticed Jehan frowning.

“Grantaire, sweetheart, I’m really not trying to pry, but is Enjolras not giving you the affection you need to feel secure? I can help you talk to him if you want.” Grantaire almost laughed because he thought it had to be a joke, but they still looked very serious, which was very stupid, because Enjolras being in the same room as him was more affection and attention than Grantaire deserved, let alone everything else Enjolras was doing for him. 

“He says he loves me,” Grantaire said quickly, since that sounded like it would be a good way to convince Jehan that Enjolras was not some neglectful monster. 

“Why don’t you believe him?” Jehan asked, and they looked so very sad. 

“I do.” Grantaire knew Enjolras would never lie to him, unless it was maybe to conceal something bad he had done so Grantaire couldn’t take the blame for it. He looked back up at the painting. “I just – I know I’m not like that.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of himself. Jehan sat quietly again for awhile.

“And you think Enjolras is?” 

“Of course he is!” Grantaire said a little too loudly, before he clamped his mouth shut. Why had he let himself fall into this trap? (Because Jehan was so soft and gentle and had never touched him and was willing to talk about Grantaire’s favorite subject and wasn’t judging him.) There was a series of noises and then Enjolras appeared, tousled and groggy and afraid. Grantaire barely had time to set his cup down on the coffee table before Enjolras had him up and tucked behind him. Of course Grantaire had fucked this all up again. Why had he let himself believe he could do anything else?

“What are you doing to him?” Enjolras snapped, and Grantaire wondered if Jehan could also hear the worry under the anger. “You’re not supposed to hurt him.”

“We were just talking a little and having some tea, Enjolras,” Jehan said, infinitely patient. They smiled a little, even though Grantaire knew Enjolras must be glaring daggers at them. “I’ll be in up for awhile if you need anything. Or you can always wake me if you need me later.” They stood up. “Grantaire, I think you should tell Enjolras what you told me.” Now Grantaire wanted to glare daggers at them too, but he was too afraid. “Good night.”

As soon as Jehan had closed their door, Enjolras turned to him. “What really happened, Grantaire? What do you need to tell me?” Grantaire studied first the floor and then the painting. “Grantaire, I – I’m not upset. I’m just wondering what this is all about. First you ask for the Internet, and then you get up in the middle of the night, and then you talk to Jehan….” Enjolras trailed off, but he sounded a little hurt. Which made sense, because he would’ve taken him months to get out of Grantaire what he had just freely told Jehan, without threat or even real prompting. He wished he had spent more time getting his thoughts in order instead of admiring his own painting.

“Do you want me to grow a beard like that?” he asked, to start the conversation. Enjolras looked totally confused before he finally looked at the painting. That was probably a hard no, then, if it hadn’t occurred to him. 

“Whatever you want, Grantaire. You should grow one if it makes you happy.” Grantaire didn’t know how to continue, but then Enjolras added, “As long as you don’t expect me to suddenly grow one. Unless you have secretly wanted your partner to feel like a peach.” Grantaire looked up and only realized after a few awkward seconds it was supposed to be a joke. He looked very hard at Enjolras’s collarbone, tracing it in his mind. 

“Will you stay with me if I sleep with you?” Grantaire asked before he totally lost his nerve. He should have asked Jehan if he could stay in the apartment even if Enjolras kicked him out of their shared room. It would hurt so terribly to keep seeing Enjolras after that, but it would hurt far worse to never see him again. Enjolras stared at him for so long Grantaire was sure he was going to throw up. Maybe they both were. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said cautiously, “I thought we agreed we’re partners. That means we’re equal, and we’re only going to do things that are mutually satisfying.”

“But partners are supposed to have sex!” Grantaire barely stopped himself from stomping his foot like a (very experienced) child. 

“Is that what this is all about?” Enjolras asked. “Do you feel pressured to have sex because we’re ‘official?’” 

“It’s what we’re supposed to do.” Why oh why did Enjolras have to be so stubborn about this? “I promise I can make you feel good. I promise it will be all about you. I promise I’ll do whatever you want.” 

“Oh, Grantaire.” Enjolras drew him in to a tight hug, and he felt so confused. “I thought putting a label on us would make you feel better, but I’ve only made it worse. I swear I haven’t been lying when I say I’m happy without sex. I really, really am. I only want you to be happy. I’m sure if I agreed you could make me feel so good, but I don’t want that.”

“No, you didn’t make it worse. I just – I just don’t want you to break up with me.” Grantaire bit his cheek as hard as he could so he didn’t cry, since he was about to be the total walking stereotype of the spurned boyfriend, and he didn’t want to be. That would be unfair to Enjolras.

“Break up with you?” Enjolras sounded stunned, like such a thing had never occurred to him. “Why would I do that?”

“Because that’s you,” Grantaire thrust a blind finger at the painting, “and this is me.” He jabbed his own chest painfully hard. 

After a terrible silence, Enjolras quietly asked, “I know you don’t remember, Grantaire, but you don’t think I’ve changed? At all?” 

“No. Well, you’re sadder now, and that’s why I thought I could offer to, you know, but you said no, that’s fine, you should say no if you want to say no, and I respect that, but I don’t how else to make you happy,” Grantaire rambled away because apparently he had lost his filter. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, so full of emotion Grantaire didn’t know which to really ascribe to it. He promptly stopped thinking about it when Enjolras lifted both his hands to rest on either side of Grantaire’s face. “What did I ever do to earn this faith?”

“You’re you,” Grantaire said stupidly. What other answer was there?

Enjolras looked away for a moment. “Grantaire, I left you to die. How can you possibly love me like this?”

“You didn’t leave me to die.” Is that what Enjolras had really thought all this time? The guilt must have been terrible. “I was so scared about being alone, but I only – when Master was gone so long and came back alone, I was certain he had killed you. I couldn’t keep going.”

“You didn’t think I had escaped but left you?”

“Of course not. I sort of assumed you wouldn’t want to be around me ever again, but I didn’t think you’d just leave me there. Even if Master had moved us somewhere else, I wouldn’t have thought you had abandoned me, just that it had become impossible to find.”

“But you did so much to help without expecting anything in return. I don’t know how to repay that.”

“Enjolras, you escaping and sending someone to free me was sort of the expected repayment.” 

“But not just that! I mean, everything. You did so much, and all I did was steal a little food once in awhile. That’s hardly equal.”

“You were there,” Grantaire said simply, because that was all he had needed. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said again, a little choked up this time, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. “Will you give me the time to make up my debt to you?” 

“Enjolras, I just told you I don’t want you to break up with me. I think you’re safe.” He rolled his eyes a little, even though he chest felt very warm and bright. It felt even warmer and brighter when Enjolras laughed. 

“Alright. How can I start?” 

Grantaire was embarrassed how long he had to consider that. He generally thought in the most basic terms. It had never occurred to him to make specific requests. “It’s the middle of the night. Why don’t we just go to bed for now?” he asked, trying to cover up his awkwardness. But when Enjolras had led them back into their room, he knelt down and asked Grantaire how he wanted to sleep. Why had Grantaire doubted that Enjolras would be this committed? (Because it was related to him, but he had to admit it made him feel special, as juvenile and silly as that sounded.) He remembered watching Enjolras sleep earlier and how they had slept in the hospital but hadn’t really done since they had been discharged. Enjolras happily laid on his back at Grantaire’s request, and then Grantaire shyly curled up next to him on his side and pillowed his head on Enjolras’s chest. He could feel Enjolras’s steady heartbeat, and Grantaire let it soothe him to sleep.


	41. Chapter Forty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was going to be fluff and things happening in this chapter...and then the E!angst carried me away, so things will happen next chapter. I don't know what chapter fluff will happen.

Enjolras laid awake on their bedroom floor as he watched snowflakes drift by the window and wondered why he wasn’t happier. The first thing he had noticed upon waking was that Grantaire had moved in his sleep, going from curled up against Enjolras’s side to sprawling halfway across his body. The warmth and weight were incredibly soothing, even if Enjolras was concerned that Grantaire didn’t feel all that heavy. The constant pressure relieved his anxiety that Grantaire could be snatched away without him realizing it, even if he was worried how Grantaire would react whenever he woke up; Enjolras had finally decided to place one hand very gently on Grantaire’s upper back, light enough that Grantaire could flail away without encountering any resistance but heavy enough Grantaire would know that Enjolras knew and wasn’t upset about it. Enjolras had contemplated pulling the comforter over Grantaire completely, for a little extra comfort and security, but he was concerned it would become stifling enough to wake him prematurely. Otherwise, he didn’t know what else to do – which probably explained his persisting unhappiness.

Enjolras tried to chastise himself, but it didn’t do any good. How could he be anything less than happy when he had everything he wanted? While there was a non-zero chance Master could escape and come for them, it was extremely unlikely. While he was stuck in jail, awaiting punishment, Enjolras and Grantaire had their own room, with their own things, with a door that they could keep locked. They had a bed if they wanted it, and even though they didn’t, they had more than enough blankets and pillows to be comfortable on the floor. Even though it was gray and snowing outside, they were both warm and dry, and no one was going to so much as threaten to send them out in it, much less actually do so; if they did have to leave the apartment before the weather cleared, they would be sufficiently bundled up and moved as quickly as possible from one heated location to another. They could sleep as long as they needed, and whenever they did decide to get up, they would be allowed to take hot showers for as long as they wanted and eat as much hot food as they could handle. Until then, they had the privacy to snuggle and to talk, away from prying eyes and ears. Grantaire sighed quietly and shifted a little in his sleep, one of the onesie’s soft feet rubbing against Enjolras’s shin, where his pajamas pants had ridden up.

And that – that was why Enjolras was so miserable. He was Grantaire’s partner, and they were supposed to be equal, just like he had said, but he was so far away from giving Grantaire the same as what he took from him. Other than Grantaire himself, he was the one who understood the best how much Grantaire wanted, even needed, to hide his body, but Éponine was the one who had done something about it. 

She was the one who had gone out and bought Grantaire new clothes to make him feel safe and secure; all Enjolras had done was give Grantaire his own comforter back. He knew better than to think he could’ve gone out shopping himself, since he had no money and lacked the fortitude to handle an excursion of that magnitude, but he could’ve asked. It would’ve been a little frightening, but he knew no one would hurt them, and with everything that had been freely given to him and Grantaire, new clothes would’ve hardly been an outrageous request. But the thought had never even occurred to him.

He rubbed Grantaire’s back gently, because focusing on that made it harder to get angry. Because Enjolras knew it wasn’t just Éponine’s gift that had him upset, it was the fact that Grantaire had talked to Jehan about how he was feeling. The jealousy hurt so bad, hurt so bad Enjolras knew that it wasn’t just jealousy – it was envy. How many times had he tried to ask Grantaire to tell him what was wrong or what Enjolras could do to make it better, only to have Grantaire lie or fall silent or turn away or even leave completely? But even though Grantaire still thought Jehan might rape him or give him to someone else to be raped, Grantaire had talked to them. 

Enjolras tried his hardest to push those feelings down. Grantaire could talk to whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and that wasn’t for Enjolras to control. He had been very close with Jehan before, and even if Grantaire couldn’t consciously remember that, Jehan had been nothing but kind and gentle to him now, and they were the one who had given Grantaire, given both of them, the majority of the nice things they both now had. None of that made Enjolras feel any better. The worst part was there was no one to blame but himself. 

He had been so naïve and foolish to think he and Grantaire could instantly have a perfect, or even healthy, relationship now that they were free. For one thing, they were being treated almost like minors, even if they had their own space to retreat to that was accorded the privacy of adults; Enjolras had to admit this was for the best for the moment – he would struggle terribly if he had to suddenly live on his own, even if he was given the money to do so. If they were going to live with Éponine and Jehan, it was only fair that the two of them have some input on what Enjolras and Grantaire’s lives were like. 

For another thing, he had no real relationship experience. Had his high school relationship been more conventional, he still didn’t think that would have been that applicable to an adult one, especially not with the issues he and Grantaire had to deal with. If Grantaire had been official with anyone in college, he had never mentioned it in Enjolras’s presence, despite more than one loud discussion of the latest person he had slept with. Enjolras wasn’t convinced all of those encounters had actually happened, though it was fine if they had, but even if the majority of them had been fabricated, that still left a minority where Grantaire had been able to practice communication and trust with an intimate partner. Enjolras, on the other hand, hadn’t always been able to handle social interactions with acquaintances without Courfeyrac rolling his eyes and Combeferre calmly explaining how Enjolras might want to “tone it down” in the future. 

He had to wonder what Grantaire saw in him. Before all of this, he had tuned out a lot of what Grantaire said and found most of what he did hear highly irritating. During, all he had managed to do was occasionally steal some food and try to soothe Grantaire when he was too distraught to turn Enjolras away. Now, he had done virtually nothing. He hoped it counted for something that he had thought he was defying the rules, and in reality he had at least been ignoring doctor’s orders and hospital protocols, to get to Grantaire’s side, and maybe it even counted for something that he tried to handle the conversations about what was happening. Otherwise, he had done virtually nothing for Grantaire. In fact, he was doing such an abysmal job that Grantaire thought Enjolras wanted him for nothing but sex, which was so far from the truth as to be almost comical.

And the worst part was Enjolras still didn’t know what he could, or should, do for Grantaire. He had no past experiences to rely on, and he didn’t even know what Grantaire really liked. After years of conditioning, all Enjolras could think to give the man he loved was food or warmth or time to rest or a safe place to hide, and those were all being provided by others. Grantaire gave another little sigh and squirmed again; it was amazing that Grantaire could trust Enjolras enough to be so close to him, even as he felt compelled to offer himself up for sex that Enjolras knew Grantaire didn’t actually want to have. Enjolras did his best to think of what he could that would be special, just for Grantaire, that no one else could do.

He refused to consider any type of sexual activity, even though it would meet those criteria; he resolved to remain steadfast against Grantaire’s advances until Grantaire could accept that Enjolras wanted it to be equally pleasurable for both of them. He suspected he probably wouldn’t find sex “fun” in the way society generally presented it as “fun,” but it wouldn’t be enjoyable at all if Grantaire ignored his own needs. 

Despite all his anxiety about how he and Grantaire were going to struggle to build a real relationship together, as melodramatic as it was, he thought it would rip his heart into pieces to leave Grantaire, and Grantaire obviously felt the same. Should he ask Jehan if he could talk to Courfeyrac about re-enrolling in law school? If he did well enough, maybe Courfeyrac and Marius would let him still join them after he graduated. Maybe they would even let him do administrative work part-time while he went to school; if he took out loans to pay for school and a some extra for living expenses, would that be enough to afford a little apartment for him and Grantaire? It probably wouldn’t be that nice, but it would be their own place. 

But that was a long-term goal, as well as a complicated one, and while his dates were fuzzy, it was still snowing and cold, which meant it was winter, which meant fall was very far away. He wondered if he could get a job now, maybe something like a waiter or a cashier or a clerk, but he had no experience in those jobs, and he couldn’t imagine he would be a sought-after candidate, once HR spent five seconds Googling him. He didn’t know how it would feel having a boss he had to listen to, but not in the same way he had had to listen to Master. Besides, even if he could get hired, he wouldn’t want to drag Grantaire away from this nice apartment to live somewhere else below the poverty line. Grantaire deserved much better than that. Enjolras resolved to ask about law school, but he needed some other ideas to implement now. 

Should he ask Jehan about getting Grantaire…whatever it was he needed to do his art? Would that gesture be received well? Enjolras had absolutely no idea what it was like to be creative, and he didn’t know if Grantaire would find making things therapeutic and fun, or if he would feel like Enjolras was pressuring him to produce pieces and start earning money. Maybe he should wait to bring it up until Grantaire remembered that he had been an artist at all. Enjolras decided to also ask Jehan about this anyway, whenever he had a chance without Grantaire listening in, but wait to bring it up with Grantaire until he was ready. 

That still left him with nothing to do right then. Enjolras thought again about what little had worked previously. Grantaire would most likely not want to talk about anything, though Enjolras was probably going to have to assure him there was nothing wrong with the way they were cuddling. There was no point in stealing food, since Jehan would give them whatever either of them wanted. But maybe Enjolras could bring Grantaire his food? He felt himself blushing at the thought of what would essentially be bringing Grantaire breakfast in bed, but it sounded like a romantic, intimate gesture that wouldn’t be well-received if anyone else tried it. The only thing to do now was wait for Grantaire to wake up.

He waited a very long time, some of which he used to wonder just how unwell Grantaire still was, that he needed so much sleep. Or maybe he was just trying to catch up on his gigantic sleep debt; he had never really let Enjolras know how little he slept, but Enjolras knew his insomnia had been vicious, and Grantaire had rarely gotten much real rest. By the time Grantaire stirred, Enjolras was starting to get hungry and uncomfortable, both of which he dutifully ignored. He knew Grantaire had come fully awake when he tensed. “Good morning,” Enjolras said quietly, afraid he was about to frighten Grantaire off. When Grantaire neither moved nor spoke, he added, “You moved in your sleep. I don’t mind. And I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

Despite his best efforts, this was not the right thing to say, because after another long moment of stillness, Grantaire abruptly rolled away, curling up with his back to Enjolras. He wondered acidly what Jehan would have said to make this right, but he made himself stop, since such thoughts were unhelpful and unproductive; he was the one who needed to find a way to fix this. “Grantaire?” he asked quietly and touched his partner’s shoulder, but all Grantaire did was let out a soft whimper and curl up even more. He started to shake, whether with repressed or silent tears Enjolras could not tell, and he wondered if Grantaire had gotten an erection in his sleep. He hadn’t felt anything through all their layers of clothing and blankets, but he couldn’t think of what else would make Grantaire feel so scared and embarrassed. Still, he was afraid to give comfort based on that assumption, in case he was wrong and unintentionally did more damage. But he didn’t want to say nothing and do even more damage.

“Grantaire, I’m not upset. It’s perfectly natural. I couldn’t even tell.” This pushed Grantaire over the edge into real tears, but Enjolras rubbed his shoulder and tried his best to make soothing sounds. He hated seeing Grantaire filled with so much shame about his own body. He kept this up until Grantaire quieted, but before Grantaire could say anything, Enjolras offered, “How about I go get breakfast and bring it back here?” This wasn’t anywhere close to the way he had imagined it, but he hoped it would still reassure Grantaire that he was loved and wanted. Grantaire didn’t respond, so Enjolras leaned forward until he could kiss the back of his head. “I promise I’ll be right back.” Enjolras wanted to look back as he left the room, but the bed blocked Grantaire from view.

He found both Éponine and Jehan seated at the kitchen table, both of them frowning at their laptops, Jehan in concentration while they sipped some tea, Éponine is annoyance while she inhaled some kind of breakfast sandwich. Enjolras didn’t know how to interrupt, so he stood there stupidly until Jehan noticed him. “Oh. Good morning, Enjolras.” They smiled and put down their mug. “How are you doing today?” 

Enjolras was almost too embarrassed to ask and reveal what an awful partner he was to two of Grantaire’s closest friends, and he hated himself for feeling that way; Grantaire had let himself be raped countless times to protect Enjolras – how could Enjolras be nervous to ask a simple question? “What’s Grantaire’s favorite thing to eat for breakfast?” Jehan and Éponine looked at one another in surprise, and only then did Enjolras realize he hadn’t bothered to answer Jehan’s question. How could expect to move out, let alone attend graduate school, when he couldn’t even handle simple social interactions?

“I don’t think R was ever up early enough to establish a favorite breakfast,” Éponine commented wryly. She took an overly large bite of her sandwich like she had taken it upon herself to purposely eat his lost meals. Enjolras looked down at the floor; he hated that he knew so little about Grantaire. It was little wonder Éponine was so concerned that he might do something to make Grantaire unhappy. 

He felt a little less stupid when Jehan said, “That’s really sweet of you to ask, Enjolras. How about I make you oatmeal with some yummy extras in it?” They didn’t wait for Enjolras to respond and started bustling about the kitchen instead. Enjolras wondered if he should go check on Grantaire while he waited, but he didn’t want Grantaire to think he had been lying about bringing him something to eat. “If you want to do something with Grantaire today, Enjolras,” Jehan noted as they put an excessive amount of honey into the oatmeal, “Courfeyrac took it upon himself to add a bunch of things to your Netflix queue that you would like.”

“More like if you want to do something with Grantaire for the next decade or so,” Éponine remarked, getting up and closing her laptop. “I told the salon not to book any appointments for me in the evening, but we’ll see if they actually bothered to listen. I’ll let you know if I get stuck. But, please, also feel free if you want to get me un-stuck.” 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” Jehan said pleasantly as they added what looked like a whole bushel of blueberries to the mix. “Just let me know what you’re doing for dinner.” Éponine waved to the two of them and left, wrapped up so only her eyes were exposed to the snow.

“You both stopped working to take care of us,” Enjolras said stupidly, even as Jehan handed him two bowls of oatmeal. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He knew Éponine was a hairdresser, and Combeferre and Joly must be residents, and Courfeyrac and Marius had their law firm, but now he realized he had no idea what Jehan, or any of his other friends, did. It was strange to feel so isolated from Jehan while also living in their apartment.

“Of course we did,” Jehan said without reproach, like losing their income wasn’t an issue. “As much as Éponine complains about certain coworkers, her salon’s owner was very understanding and let her take an indefinite leave of absence as soon as she got the call from the hospital.” They paused to consider. “Or maybe she was afraid of losing one of her best employees and of having said employee mail a bomb to the salon.” Enjolras wasn’t sure if Jehan was joking or not. 

“What about you?” Enjolras should get back to Grantaire right away, but he was too overwhelmed by the realization of how little he actually knew about everything. “Weren’t you in school still?” Enjolras thought Jehan had started working on a PhD, but he didn’t trust his memory enough to be sure. 

“I realized the pressures of academia to constantly publish removed the joy from my creative endeavors,” Jehan replied, in a practice and formal way, like they had had to give an answer to that question many times. Enjolras looked at the ground again, ashamed he hadn’t even known this was a sensitive topic. “It’s alright, Enjolras,” Jehan said, more normally. “I got my MFA in Creative Writing with a concentration in Poetry. That’s enough to teach writing courses to people young enough to not have be broken by the system yet and who actually still, to everyone’s shock and horror, still like it. I have yet to meet an adjunct professor who’s unwilling to pick up more hours, and therefore more pay, so I just gave my classes to a colleague and put all my freelance projects on hold.”

“What if you can’t get them back?” Enjolras didn’t mean to imply that Jehan wasn’t good enough to build their own career – he was just afraid instead of simply putting it on hold temporarily, they had put it on hold forever, and it would be his fault.

“I don’t foresee it being an issue,” they said without rancor. “Plus it made me realize my agent is a total asshole. I told him since he didn’t like the delay in my poetry collection, he could have one poem to sell, entitled ‘My Friends Are the Most Important Thing.’ Otherwise everyone was very understanding.” They shrugged, unbothered. “I can start back on a few freelance things now, and if it’s not enough, I can always work in a flower shop this spring.” 

“But this apartment must be expensive!” Enjolras belatedly realized he wasn’t appropriate to ask someone about their personal finances so candidly. 

Jehan studied Enjolras carefully before responding. Were they finally angry with him? “As much as my parents might find some of my life choices, shall we say…frivolous, I think they were so relieved I didn’t get a PhD in a liberal arts field, that they offered me the money they would’ve paid to help support me as a down-payment on a house or apartment. I haven’t used it yet, but they’ve agreed to give it to me for living expenses now if I deplete my own savings. Enjolras, you don’t need to worry about leaving here until you’re absolutely ready. It’s all taken care of. You just need to focus on getting better.”

“Oh.” 

Jehan somehow laughed a little. “If I gone into business, I would’ve gotten a job with them but not really had to work. Now I have to work but don’t really have job. I think my parents don’t really understand how that happened, but they don’t want to see me starving in the streets because I wanted to take care of my friends, either.”

“Oh.” Enjolras felt very small. He felt very small indeed for being angry at Jehan for talking to Grantaire, when they were happily giving everything up to take care of the two of them. “Sorry,” he mumbled, even though they probably didn’t know what he really meant.

“Enjolras, don’t worry about it. If you do, I’ll call Joly and have him give you a lecture on how stress is not good for your health, and I don’t think anyone but Joly would like that. Why don’t you go eat with Grantaire and then I can show you how the TV works. I’m sure Grantaire can find something that he would like to watch as well.” 

Enjolras hurried back to their room, upset at himself for wasting so much time when Grantaire was waiting, and hurting. He could have asked Jehan those questions any time, or never, and he knew Grantaire wouldn’t have dawdled like that if their positions were reversed. Grantaire had sat up while he was gone, but he didn’t look up when Enjolras handed him his oatmeal. “I’m sorry. I got – I got distracted talking to Jehan,” Enjolras said lamely. This was not at all how he imagined his nice morning with Grantaire. “I shouldn’t have done that, though. I’m sorry.”

Grantaire was gripping his spoon so hard Enjolras worried he might bend it. “Did you – did you tell them?” His voice was so quiet Enjolras almost hadn’t heard. 

“What?” At first he had no idea what exactly Grantaire thought he might have told them, and then he was horrified Grantaire thought he might have told Jehan what had had happened that morning. “No, absolutely not. Grantaire, I would never do something like that. I would only tell Jehan about you if you were really sick.”

“But I am,” Grantaire miserably told his oatmeal. Enjolras wanted so badly to hug him, but he didn’t know if it would actually help. 

“Grantaire, you’re not sick!” He paused to calm himself. He didn’t want Grantaire to think he was angry with him. “Grantaire, it was a completely normal reaction, and it’s not your fault. Just like I told you earlier.” Grantaire was unmoved. “How about this?” Enjolras tried. “Why don’t we have our oatmeal and take showers and then Jehan said we can come watch Netflix in the family room.” Grantaire still did nothing. “I think your hair’s really cute when it’s wet.” That probably wasn’t the right thing to say either, but it was true, and Enjolras didn’t know what else to do.

“You don’t want me to grow it out?” Grantaire asked after a pause. Enjolras had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s longer, in the painting.”

“Oh. Grantaire, I want you to wear your hair however you like it.” Grantaire didn’t respond but did finally start to eat, though Enjolras worried Grantaire had missed the whole point of the conversation. He showed little interest when Enjolras asked which of two sweaters he would prefer Enjolras to wear or in the stack of clothes that Enjolras set next to him for Grantaire to wear after his own shower, the baggiest hoodie he could find folded on top. He didn’t look up when Enjolras kissed his forehead. When Enjolras said, “I love you,” before leaving the room, Grantaire only mumbled a reply. 

Enjolras kept his shower as short as he could manage; he had wasted enough time already today. When Grantaire moped away for his own, Enjolras took a few armfuls of blankets into the family room, building them a miniature version of their sleeping nest on the sofa. Jehan politely waited until he was satisfied with the arrangment to show him which remotes to use, and Enjolras started looking through what Courfeyrac had earmarked for him; Éponine was right – it would take a very, very long time to watch all of this. Grantaire finally emerged after a longer than usual shower, curls damp and the dark blue feet of a clean onesie and dark red hood of a clean sweatshirt showing on either side of his comforter. Even if Grantaire didn’t believe it, Enjolras really did think he looked cute like this. Grantaire glanced up when Jehan greeted him but otherwise just stood in the middle of the room.

Enjolras got up and gently guided him over to the sofa. He set down next to him and wrapped them up together in all the layers he had brought out. He wriggled one of his hands free to grab the remote. “Why don’t I scroll through and you stop me when you see something that sounds interesting?” Grantaire reluctantly looked up and softly bumped Enjolras when he got to a documentary series about art theft. Enjolras started the show and then drew his arm back in and used it to encourage Grantaire to lean against him. 

If it weren’t for the fact that Jehan was nearby, though they were studiously ignoring the two of them, and that Grantaire dozed off within a few minutes, Enjolras felt like they were almost a normal couple. Was this what a date between them would have looked like if none of this had happened? Then Enjolras wondered if they ever would have started dating if he hadn’t been forced to discover and acknowledge Grantaire’s numerous good qualities. Despite the exorbitant cost, the thought of not having Grantaire, even in some alternate reality where he wasn’t even interested in having Grantaire, made him so sad that he forced himself to focus on the documentary again. 

When the episode finished, Jehan came over and paused it before the next one could auto-play. Grantaire moved a little when the noise stopped, before settling back down, so Enjolras was confident he was actually still asleep. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Enjolras,” they said, “but Marius texted, and he and Cosette would like to come over later.” Enjolras sat up and tightened his hold on Grantaire. 

“Why?” He frowned. “The grand jury can’t be done yet, can they?”

“I don’t think so. Courfeyrac hasn’t given me any updates on it. I think Marius wants to talk about what will happen next, and Cosette feels it would be best if she’s present.”

“Why?” he asked again. He was supposed to be demonstrating to Grantaire that he could be a good and considerate and worthy partner, and he knew Cosette would only frighten him. 

“That might be more a question for Marius, but I think she wants to help both of you feel comfortable enough to talk about what happened.” That prospect was certainly going to frighten Grantaire. It frightened him. He wanted to refuse, but he wanted Master to be eviscerated in court, he wanted Master to be executed, even if it took years and years to happen, and it would be easier for the prosecution if he told them everything. He imagined he was going to have to testify in court, too. “Enjolras, there’s no need to wind yourself up about this now. Why don’t you watch another episode or two, and you can ask Marius and Cosette all your questions when they get here?” 

“Fine,” Enjolras conceded, but he only stared blankly at the TV as Jehan hit play, trying to think of how he could protect Grantaire but make sure Master was wiped away forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know how frustrating it is to research documentaries on Netflix released in the last four years, only to find the one about art's use in revolution is no longer on Netflix? Also, Netflix has some very weird ideas about results to show if you search for "art history."
> 
> (My writing would probably be better served by having more adverbs removed instead of nonsense like this, but w/e.)


	42. Chapter Forty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst, some fluff, some more angst, with a side of bumbling through the legal world again.
> 
> (For reals, if you write an article explaining x will happen unless mutually exclusive y happens instead but don't explain what triggers the change, your article is Unhelpful.)

Grantaire wondered why he was being gently but rhythmically shaken. It had been a rare occasion indeed when Enjolras had needed to wake him, instead of the other way around, but it had always been done with great urgency. (Except for that time in the hospital Enjolras had woken him with gentle kisses, but Grantaire didn’t want to think about that, because then he would also have to think about how after this morning Enjolras would certainly never do anything like that again.) He wondered if should investigate the source of the continued shaking, but he didn’t really want to. Scratching at his arms in the shower was supposed to take the edge of, but it had only made him feel more miserable, and he didn’t particularly want to feel the bone-deep ache of sadness any sooner than strictly necessary. (He honestly wondered if he hurt more now than he had with Master. Maybe it was one of those grass is always greener things, but at least the physical pain had always gone away, given enough time.)

The shaking didn’t stop, and Grantaire’s mind dragged itself out of the groggy, unhappy morass it was mired in, and he realized it was probably happening for a reason. That reason had to be Enjolras, which meant it had to be important. Once Grantaire forced his eyes open, it became immediately apparent that Enjolras wasn’t shaking him, he was…just shaking. But he wasn’t just shaking. He also had his jaw clamped shut so tightly Grantaire was surprised he hadn’t shattered his teeth. His nostrils flared every time he exhaled, like it was a significant effort not to hyperventilate. Grantaire was completely awake now. He forgot to be sad. 

His first thought was Enjolras had been sent out into the snow and he almost struggled free to go run a hot bath out of pure habit, but it was good the blankets slowed him down, because it made him reconsider. While Enjolras was shaking like he was freezing, Grantaire didn’t think Enjolras could’ve be coerced from the blankets, sent outside, brought back in, and returned to their cocoon without waking Grantaire. He slowly turned his head and saw Jehan improbably folded up in a kitchen chair but quite probably engrossed in their work. He knew what happened to people who assumed, but it really didn’t look like Jehan had gotten up to torment anyone recently. 

Grantaire looked at Enjolras again. He was staring at the TV but was concentrating only on trying to stay still and quiet. Grantaire dared to reach out and touch Enjolras’s arm (after he reminded himself that he was doing this to help Enjolras feel better, not trying to gain any gratification for himself.) Enjolras turned to look at him with huge eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but his teeth clattered together and he winced as he clamped his lips back together. “What’s wrong?” Grantaire mouthed at him, but while Enjolras probably meant something when he looked significantly at Jehan and then at the door and then blinked a whole bunch, Grantaire could only guess it meant Jehan had said someone was coming over, but the specifics were lost in translations. It wasn’t that they were bad at silent communication, but life with Master had never required a way to clarify things like abstract concepts. 

It was the perhaps the most selfish thought Grantaire had ever had, but he wished Enjolras had just be forced outside, because then he would know what to do. He would run that hot bath and put another set of pajamas in the dryer (once he found it) and then put Enjolras into the nest in the bedroom and then press him close for warmth. His second most selfish wish was that Enjolras would have a panic attack instead of whatever this was, because then he could find his little bit of courage and ask Jehan for Enjolras’s medicine. His third most selfish wish was for Enjolras to just throw up to attract Jehan’s attention so Grantaire didn’t have to try to decide what to do (because his just knew his decision would be wrong, no matter how much he wanted it to be right.) 

“Can you stop?” Grantaire mouthed this time, even though he didn’t need Enjolras to shake his head to know he couldn’t. The question was stupid. He was stupid for asking it. He was stupid for not knowing what to do. As his own panic built in his chest, he made himself breathe. If he handled this wrong, especially after this morning, Enjolras would certainly kick him out. Ignorance would not be a valid excuse. 

Enjolras kept shaking, and Grantaire decided he needed to get them back to the bedroom so Enjolras could let out whatever was causing this anxiety before he hurt himself. Would Jehan just let them leave? There was no way they could both sneak by them (because Grantaire didn’t think much sneaking could be done when walking right in front of a person that had generally proved to be very attentive,) and he didn’t think he could cause any kind of distraction that would make Jehan miss Enjolras leaving on his own. (Besides, even if that did work, it wasn’t like it’d be all that difficult to find Enjolras.) That only left asking. He had never bothered to ask Master for anything, because he knew the answer would have been no. Grantaire didn’t know if he could handle Jehan saying yes instead. But unless the downstairs neighbors just so happened to cut a hole in their ceiling right under the couch or some aliens appeared to beam them away, there was no other choice.

“J-Jehan?” Grantaire called, half-hoping a vengeful god would smite him before Jehan could answer. His voice sounded painfully loud in his own ears, so unused to participating in conversation with anyone other than Enjolras, let alone initiating it. But unless Jehan was even more focused than they appeared to be, Grantaire had still been too quiet, because they didn’t move except to type for a few moments. “Jehan,” Grantaire tried again, wincing and worrying the neighbors would be at the door to complain about the ruckus at any second. 

Jehan half-lifted their head, like they had only heard a wayward noise, but then they did a double-take when they saw Grantaire looking at them. He immediately dropped his eyes. “R? R, what’s wrong?” It was a testament to how fucking good Enjolras was at hiding his distress that Jehan didn’t immediately see him shaking, but when Enjolras tried to speak again, he couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering this time. Jehan looked stricken, and Grantaire could only wonder what they had told Enjolras that had frightened him so terribly. “Oh, Enjolras. I’m sorry.” They looked at Grantaire like he was in charge and had one single fucking idea what to do. “Do you want to go back to your room?”

Well, maybe he did have one idea, and that was it. “Yes, please,” he made himself say, because it wouldn’t do to make whatever was planned worse by being impolite and ungrateful. Jehan looked a little sad, and Grantaire had to wonder if they were ultimately disappointed in his good behavior, but they only nodded.

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything.” Grantaire also had to wonder if he hadn’t woken up at all and was in fact dreaming, because this was all too good and simple and easy. OK, it was less simple and easy when it came to disentangling himself and helping a still trembling Enjolras off the couch and down the hall, but it was still good. He helped Enjolras lie down and then crawled in next to him, ignoring his brain screaming that this was a Bad Idea (or possibly an Extremely Bad Idea,) because there was nothing remotely arousing about Enjolras in this much distress. (And it was clear just how much distress it was when he didn’t comment on Grantaire leaving the door not only unlocked but also unblocked. Grantaire was just terrified something horrible would happen, and he didn’t want to be delayed in getting out.) He ignored his own unease and hugged Enjolras as firmly as he could. It was awkward being the big spoon and he didn’t know where to curl his knees exactly, but eventually Enjolras’s breathing slowed. Finally, he let out a huge, shuddering sigh, and the worst was over.

“Feeling better?” Grantaire whispered, afraid to disturb the silence, but also afraid to continue to inflict himself on Enjolras if he didn’t need Grantaire anymore. Enjolras let out another of those sighs and buried his face in hands. “Headache?” Grantaire asked and felt extraordinarily stupid he hadn’t thought of that himself. Of course Enjolras had a headache after fusing his jaw closed through sheer force of will. (A little voice in his head tried to remind him the health concerns he had for Enjolras were far beyond simple headaches, and it made sense he wouldn’t think of it, but it was quickly drowned out by the loud voice reminding Grantaire he was doing a terrible job taking care of Enjolras.) “I’ll be right back.”

Grantaire found Jehan at the kitchen table, sitting just like Enjolras was. They looked up when he loudly scuffed the feet of his onesie on the carpet. “Do you need anything, Grantaire?” 

For a second he contemplated pretending he was the one with the headache, since the price of Jehan’s help was unknown, but he discarded it as far too obvious a ploy. If he had ever asked Master for something like this for Enjolras, he would’ve probably just laughed. If Grantaire had told a very obvious, very stupid lie and pretended he wanted it for himself, the punishment would’ve been terrible. In the following second he contemplated running back to the room and never emerging ever again, but he thought of the pain on Enjolras’s face. “He has a headache.” It sounded so disrespectful and really fucking awkward without an honorific, but at least he had managed to only imply Enjolras needed help, instead of outright asking for it.

“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought of that.” While Jehan fluttered away, galvanized into action by the pronouncement, Grantaire took pleasure in the fact Jehan, who practically hovered over them constantly, hadn’t thought about Enjolras’s headache either. It wasn’t a charitable thought at all, but Grantaire didn’t care. It meant he wasn’t literally the worst. (A tie for last place was still technically last place, but he had to take what he could get.) Jehan returned from their room with a small dropper bottle and the containter of ibuprofen. Grantaire held them awkwardly and silently watched as Jehan emptied a plastic water bottle and filled it with some sort of juice, the color of which suggested it was freshly pressed from the famous Artificial Color Tree, instead of something normal like oranges. He must have made a face (and wasn’t that absolutely fucking terrifying, that his emotions were so obvious Jehan noticed them,) because they said, “The sugar will help.” They gestured at the other bottles. “Ferre says to start with two ibuprofen, and if that doesn’t help after an hour or so, Enjolras can take another two. That’s peppermint oil – if you put a few drops on Enjolras’s temples and massage it in, it should help.” They looked pointedly at Grantaire, but he didn’t know what it was supposed to mean. He was getting very tired of all these secret messages. (Not that he really wanted anyone to tell him anything either. Maybe he could suggest a variation of the silent game, where players also weren’t allowed to look at each other.)

They both stood silently, until Grantaire decided he could just take a punishment for leaving without being dismissed. After he turned, Jehan said, “R, I really am sorry.” They looked very earnest, almost like they wanted Grantaire’s forgiveness or understanding or something equally bizarre. It wasn’t Grantaire’s place to forgive or understand or pass judgment. His place was to make Enjolras feel better. (For now.) When it seemed like Jehan had nothing else to say, he left, carting everything they had given him back to the room. He walked around the bed and saw Enjolras was still curled on his side and holding his head, so Grantaire turned off the light and closed the regular curtains but left the blackout set open. He didn’t want to be in total darkness, and he didn’t know how Enjolras would feel about it. Enjolras blinked blearily up at him when Grantaire offered him the medicine, but he let Grantaire support his head enough to drink a good amount of the juice.

“Um,” Grantaire started eloquently, “they – they said this would help if it were massaged on your temples.” Good, full marks for passive voice. It turned very active when Enjolras rolled to his back without question. Grantaire went to kneel behind him, but Enjolras pulled his hands away from his face enough to look up and mumble an unhappy sound. Grantaire shifted to sit cross-legged instead, and apparently that was acceptable, because Enjolras let Grantaire lift his head and pillow into his lap without further complaint. Grantaire thought Jehan had advised using only a few drops of the oil because that was all they would allow for Enjolras, but that proved an incorrect assumption when Grantaire removed the stopper and the room smelled like it had been transported to the middle of the North Pole. 

He did as Jehan had said, putting a couple drops on each of Enjolras’s temples and began to lightly massage it in. Enjolras let out a pleased moan, and Grantaire focused very, very hard on what his hands were doing instead of what his brain was doing (screaming that this development was simultaneously both amazing and horrible.) (He waited for any god this time, vengeful or not, to come summarily remove his hands from his body, but none appeared, so he went on massaging and not dying as Enjolras continued to make more happy sounds.) (Enjolras probably wouldn’t trust anyone else to touch his head like this, so maybe Grantaire was finally safe in his role until Enjolras got his anxiety under control.)

“Thank you, Grantaire,” Enjolras finally said, only a slight tremor in his voice. He looked much calmer, and even Grantaire felt a little better, just from the sharp but fresh scent of the oil. 

“Do you want me to stop now?” 

Enjolras frowned, which looked a little grotesque upside-down, and asked in a very child-like voice, “Just a little longer?”

“As long as you want,” Grantaire promised, though he felt very stupid and warm as soon as he said it, and he pretended to look out the window when Enjolras looked up at him, though the effect was ruined because someone who very stupid had covered it. (He would have to fire them, it was the only way.)

“You’re too good to me, Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered a few minutes later. (Grantaire would also have to fire whoever hadn’t left the window open for him to quickly and conveniently jump out of.) Grantaire made what he hoped was a generic soothing sound because he couldn’t remember how words worked. (Or, at least, the right words for when literally the most amazing person to ever walk the planet lied like that.) 

“Do you feel better?” he asked, when he remembered how to English.

Enjolras hummed and then frowned. “We need to talk.” Grantaire’s hands stilled of their own accord so he could concentrate on important things, like the statistical probability of a flock of pigeons opening the window for him. (If there were infinite pigeons and infinite windows, it would happen, right?) No animals performed any magical feats, so he was stuck waiting for Enjolras to burst this little bubble of happiness. He kept waiting as Enjolras gathered his thoughts. On a whim (that looked suspiciously like a calculated thought) he started stroking Enjolras’s hair. What an unfortunate accident it would be if it lulled him to sleep and prevented this whole conversation from happening. 

It didn’t work. “I – I want to do the right thing,” Enjolras started and then paused. “Grantaire, what do you want to happen to Master?” 

Of all the things Grantaire had been expecting, this hadn’t made it anywhere close to being on the list. Master just…was. Why waste time thinking about something he couldn’t do anything about? He couldn’t hurt Enjolras now, and nothing else really mattered. 

“Do you know how grand juries work, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked after Grantaire didn’t reply. He thought hard about this question.

“It’s – it’s so they can indict you? Right?” He didn’t know which part of ass that fact had been lodged in, but he pulled it out nonetheless. 

“Mmm, right,” Enjolras agreed. Grantaire shouldn’t feel so stupidly happy about getting a simple question right. He didn’t when Enjolras sighed again. “Jehan said Marius and Cosette were coming over later today, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it why. I think – alright, so a person can’t just be held in jail indefinitely right? The police have to prove there are legitimate charges against them. That’s what the grand jury decides. That there’s enough for the case to proceed.” Grantaire nodded, not sure where this was going. Maybe he had misunderstood that the grand jury was already convened. “Well, in some cases, some charges come later, and there’s a second grand jury to get the full indictment.” Grantaire nodded again – it made sense that an investigation wouldn’t always be complete before a suspect was arrested. 

Enjolras was quiet again. “Grantaire, I want him to die.” Grantaire kept stroking his hair. He knew that was what Enjolras would want, even if he had never consciously thought about it. There was more silence. “Grantaire, we’ve never really been interviewed about what happened. There’s obviously enough evidence for a whole host of charges without our testimony, but I think Marius is coming to tell us the police want to thoroughly interview us – so that they can press as many charges as possible.”

“That’s why – why she’s coming with.” Grantaire didn’t want to upset Enjolras and call her Mistress Fauchelevent, but he couldn’t just call her Cosette, either. 

“I presume they suspect we’ll be uncooperative, and she’s supposed to make sure we comply without a fuss.” 

Grantaire wondered if the neighbors had drilled a hole into the apartment, because he felt like he was plummeting to the ground but would never, ever stop. If Enjolras had to start talking about what happened to him, it would be so closely tied to what happened to Grantaire that there would be no avoiding it, and she would make him see how bad and terrible his reliance on a bad and terrible person like Grantaire was, and then there would be no hope for him. He clenched his teeth like Enjolras had, to keep from crying. He would not fall to pieces. He would not, especially not now that Enjolras was looking at him.

“Oh, Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered. “I know you don’t want either of us to talk to her, and I know you’re worried she’ll convince me to leave you, and I swear no one can convince me to do that, but I just want Master to die for what he did, and I know you expect me to know what to do, but I just got so mixed up in my head about what was really the right thing to do, and then I just couldn’t stop and-”

“Shh, Enjolras, it’s fine.” Grantaire knew exactly what that felt like. He was slightly amazed Enjolras remembered how scared he was about this particular issue, and it made him feel warm inside, and not just from the shame.

“It’s not fine, Grantaire,” Enjolras snapped, though he softened as soon as Grantaire flinched. Maybe he just wanted Grantaire to keep playing with his hair. “You want me to decide what to do, and here I am contemplating having us do something you’ve made it very clear you do not want, just to fulfill my own selfish desires. I’m no – I’m not any better than-”

“Don’t say that!” Grantaire was the one to snap this time. “Enjolras, you can’t think – you don’t even compare.” Grantaire didn’t know how to convince him. If Enjolras was the sun, Master was a black hole. They would both destroy him, but that didn’t mean they were the same.

“But if I asked you to do it, to tell the police every single thing, you would, wouldn’t you?” Enjolras was looking at him very hard, so Grantaire looked at the curtains again. “Grantaire, if you don’t feel like you have a choice when I ask you to do something, I’m not any better than Master. No matter what you say.”

“But I could say no.” Not that he would, but that didn’t seem helpful to his current argument. “Just because I won’t doesn’t make it the same as not having a choice at all.”

Enjolras sighed in utter frustration. “Grantaire, I can’t say I feel comfortable with the means being different if the ends are the same.” He sighed yet again, but then he patted the space next to him. “Come here. Please?”

“Is this a trick? Am I supposed to say no to prove I can?” 

Enjolras blinked and then huffed. “No, it’s not a trick. I just want you close.”

Grantaire knew he was blushing, but he obediently replaced Enjolras’s pillow on the floor and clambered down next to him. Enjolras had pulled a blanket past his waist and took his turn as big spoon. It was much less awkward. (And Grantaire did have to admit to himself, secretly of course, he felt safer talking now that Enjolras was holding him firmly. And because he didn’t have to see his facial expressions.) “I’m sorry, Grantaire. I don’t know why I’m so confused like this.”

“Enjolras, it’s really fine.” 

“But it’s not. You expect me to be a leader, and I can’t even make one decision. I just – I just get all anxious and confused instead.” Grantaire found where one of Enjolras’s arms was wrapped around him and rubbed it gently.

“Enjolras, it’s not something you can control.” He should be good and tell Enjolras to talk to Mistress Fauchelevent, at least about his anxiety if it was starting to make him actively unhappy, but the words lodged in his throat as they cuddled. “Maybe they’re coming for a different reason?” If that were true, then there would be no dilemma, and Enjolras wouldn’t feel bad because of Grantaire, and he wouldn’t feel so guilty for not putting Enjolras first. 

“I can’t think of anything else related to our case. Nothing else makes as much sense.” 

“Why don’t we wait and see?” Grantaire suggested. This whole mess could be Future Grantaire’s problem. 

“Oh.” Enjolras sounded genuinely surprised by this idea and seemed to consider it. “I thought it would be better to know what I wanted going in, but you’re right. I – I’m still so confused by so much of what everyone does. Maybe it is just something else.” Grantaire didn’t really think it was, he didn’t doubt Enjolras’s simple and logical solution, but at least Enjolras was more relaxed. Yes, Present Grantaire was quite happy to kick this can down the road. But that can smacked sharply into the devil he was speaking of, since the silence was abruptly broken by the muffled sound of people entering the apartment. It had to be them. Enjolras pressed Grantaire to him and then slowly sat up. 

“Do you want your comforter, Grantaire? Or would you rather hold hands? I don’t want to feel like I’m going to let go.”

“I don’t want to break your hand,” Grantaire deflected, but Enjolras not only saw through it, he gave Grantaire a small smile.

“With the number of times I’ve almost broken your hand, it would only be fair.” He extended his hand to help Grantaire up and looked down at him very seriously. “Grantaire, I love you. I promise nothing could make me leave you. I won’t let go, no matter what.” Grantaire didn’t know what to say as Enjolras took up his other hand so that they could stand side by side (or in front and behind, since Grantaire knew he would inevitably hide behind Enjolras at some point.) It made him feel like he was only going to a very terrible punishment instead of his execution as Enjolras led him out. He didn’t let himself look up, even when Enjolras stopped. If he didn’t look, then maybe none of this would be real.

“What do you want?” Enjolras barked before anyone else could say anything. 

“Oh, uh, hello,” Master Pontmercy managed. At least if this was his idea, he wasn’t much of a mastermind. “How are you?” Enjolras didn’t respond. “This might take a little while to talk about. Do you want to sit down?”

“No.” 

“Uh, that’s fine. You can always sit down later if you want.”

“What do you want?” Enjolras repeated. Master Pontmercy had just started stammering out a reply when Enjolras asked, “The police want to talk to us, don’t they?” 

“They do,” said Mistress Fauchelevent, and it sounded like she was setting mugs down on the table as she spoke. “We know this is really difficult, and we wanted to give you a safe space to talk through it first.”

Grantaire knew he was squeezing Enjolras’s hand harder and harder the longer and longer Enjolras didn’t respond, but he couldn’t stop himself. This was going to be the beginning of the end, and he wouldn’t even have the luxury of privacy. Everyone would find out at some point, but that didn’t mean he wanted some of them to have front-row seats to the show. “How much do they need to know?” was what Enjolras finally asked.

“I don’t know what you mean, Enjolras. The police want to know everything that happened so they know what charges to bring.”

Grantaire heard Enjolras’s jaw clicking as he worked it, and he wondered if he should be concerned. “I mean, what do they need to know to make a case for the death penalty?” That particular silence stretched so long that Grantaire raised his head enough to see Jehan and Master Pontmercy and Mistress Fauchelevent all looking at each other, confused and unsettled. Master Pontmercy in particular had a look of fright that suggested he was about to get run over by a bus. (It was probably good there was no way for Enjolras to get one into the apartment or that might become a real issue.)

“Enjolras,” Master Pontmercy said tentatively, “you know that’s not a possibility.”

“What do you mean, that’s not a possibility?” Enjolras enunciated each word separately. Grantaire braced himself. 

“It’s not – New York doesn’t have the death penalty. It hasn’t changed since, you know, well….” 

Grantaire thought Enjolras might explode, but he only said, “Fine. We can change it now. This can set a precedent.”

“Enjolras-” Master Pontmercy started, but Jehan interrupted. 

“Enjolras, you know the death penalty disproportionately affects the poor. He has enough money to hire an excellent lawyer. He would find a way out of it, and it would probably take years of appeals to get any sort of conclusion, and that would be a long time to go without closure.” Enjolras was working at Grantaire’s hand subconsciously, but that was better than Grantaire had expected.

It was worse than he expected when Master Pontmercy decided to add, “Enjolras, you were always so against the death penalty. You didn’t think it was something a civilized society should-”

“Well, maybe I’m not the same, Marius.” Grantaire knew he should stop this, but he had no idea what to do. Interventions with Master hadn’t really covered policy disagreements. “Do you really think he deserves to live after what he did to us?” 

“Enjolras, we can accept what he did was heinous beyond belief while still acknowledging he can’t be executed,” Jehan said quite calmly, like Enjolras wasn’t currently raging against all of them. Enjolras shuddered, and his hand relaxed slightly. He looked back at Grantaire for a moment before turning away.

“How likely is it that he’ll commit suicide?” 

“Enjolras!” Master Pontmercy sounded horrified at the suggestion. 

“Do you know the answer?” Jehan prompted, like they were asking if Master was getting enough to eat, instead of whether he would kill himself. Grantaire’s arms hurt (probably psychosomatically, since they had been fine just a moment ago,) but it would be so easy if Master just offed himself. It would solve this whole mess and satisfy Enjolras. It must be a hard transition to go from having two personal slaves to being locked up – would that push Master over the edge? (Though admittedly Enjolras was less of a loss, since Grantaire doubted Master had anything that needed cleaning and there were probably inmates smaller than him if he needed to beat up on someone. Finding a substitute for Grantaire would be much more problematic.)

“He hasn’t shown any indication he intends to kill himself, but he’s being kept on suicide watch out of an abundance of caution,” Master Pontmercy replied, still flabbergasted. Enjolras struggled but managed not to explode.

“OK, fine. How much do they need to know to get life without parole?”

“That’s – that’s not – Enjolras, that’s not a possible sentence for any of his crimes.” Grantaire almost felt bad Master Pontmercy had to be the messenger. It didn’t sound fair to him that Master would be let out eventually, but Grantaire knew Master Pontmercy hadn’t personally designed the legal system to fuck them over in this exact situation, either.

“What the fuck do you mean that’s not a possible sentence?” 

“It’s just not, Enjolras, I’m sorry.” Master Pontmercy was shaken but he did really sound sorry. “The longest possible sentence is 25 years, for kidnapping and – and for what happened to Grantaire.” He trailed off. Grantaire tried to turn invisible by wishing for it really, really hard.

Enjolras started to shake again, and Grantaire knew it wasn’t from anxiety this time. “Fine. So the combined sentence will still be longer than his lifetime anyway?”

“Um. It’s hard to say before the trial. It could be he serves the sentences concurrently.” Grantaire held his breath, and it was summarily knocked out of him as Enjolras dragged him into the kitchen. There was a clatter and then Enjolras began systematically pulling dishes out of a cabinet and smashing them on the floor. It was awkward for him to do so, since his right hand was holding Grantaire’s left, so not every single thing broke, but most of them did. Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut and held perfectly still. He felt some shards ricochet harmlessly off his many-layered legs, but he worried Enjolras was going to cut himself since he had only pajama pants to protect him. 

“Enjolras!” said Master Pontmercy faintly. 

“I think it’s safest to let him get it out of his system,” Mistress Fauchelevent soothed him in response. 

Enjolras finally did get it out of his system. Grantaire could hear his heavy, ragged breathing and feel his exhausted shaking, and he was afraid to see if Jehan had anything left, or if they would be eating off paper plates for the forseeable future. “Enjolras, do you want to go to your room until you calm down?” Mistress Fauchelevent asked. Jehan magically appeared, broom in hand, and swept clear a path for them. Enjolras was still panting and shaking, and Grantaire didn’t know if he should shepherd him away or wait. 

“Enjolras?” Jehan asked quietly.

Enjolras jumped. “I’m – I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“You were upset, Enjolras,” Jehan said without anger. “I’ll just clean this up. Plus this gives me a reason to go to the thrift store without Éponine rolling her eyes at me.” Grantaire shuffled along with Enjolras, though Enjolras stopped them when they were clear of the disaster zone. Jehan hummed as they swept up several panfuls of shards and then went over the tile a few more times to be thorough. 

“Sorry,” Enjolras apologized again as they clipped the pan back around the broom. 

“It’s perfectly alright, Enjolras,” they reminded him. It was almost unbelievable to Grantaire. If Enjolras had pulled any shit remotely close to this with Master, they would’ve been separated for days, maybe even weeks, whatever it took to make Enjolras sufficiently wrecked and sincerely remorseful, and Grantaire probably would’ve been made to do all the cooking for even longer, with Enjolras watching to enforce the lesson. There would’ve been none of this gentleness or total lack of reproach.

Enjolras shuddered. “Marius,” he asked quietly, “what can we do? Will talking to the police even help?” 

“I can’t promise it will help, no,” Master Pontmercy admitted, “but it can’t hurt. Prosecuting isn’t exactly my area of expertise. It’s possible they’ll come up with a strategy based on what you say that wouldn’t occur to me. There’s plenty of details they know and I don’t, and they’ll know exactly what questions to ask to help build the case.” Grantaire didn’t want to lose Enjolras over just a possibility, but he also didn’t want Enjolras to continue to boil with anger and always wonder, what if.

“Do you want to sit down and talk it through?” Mistress Fauchelevent asked.

Enjolras turned to Grantaire and spoke too quietly for anyone else to hear. “What do you want, Grantaire? I don’t want you to agree just for me.” Grantaire needed to look into drafting a memo to replace the one Enjolras had missed. It had explained a lot of important things, like how Grantaire didn’t really do anything unless it was for Enjolras. (The memo about how he sometimes did things for himself, to keep Enjolras, would have to be tragically lost in transit.) Enjolras had been through so much – he had escaped twice, he had saved Grantaire’s pathetic life twice, he had let Grantaire stay in his company countless times, he had talked to Grantaire, he had risked punishment to steal food for him. Enjolras deserved whatever closure and resolution he could get.

“I’ll be fine,” Grantaire whispered back, even though it wasn’t true.


	43. Chapter Forty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, there was going to be more plot...but then I got caught up in the E!angst and having him talk about Feelings with Helpful People. I don't make the rules.
> 
> More importantly, I am leaving Friday on a backpacking trip, so it's probably going to be 2-3 weeks before the next chapter is posted. :( There *might* be one if I hike a lot faster than I thought (haha, don't hold your breath on that one) or if I freak myself out at night and can't sleep (this is extremely likely, considering I can't think about the Scooby Doo episode with puppets if I'm alone at night in my locked house without freaking out....) I don't think I left it in too horrible of a spot! I appreciate everyone being patient. :)

“OK, as requested, a set of plastic dishes and a truly vast assortment of mac and cheese.” Éponine dropped her bags on the table. “Do I even want to know what happened today?” 

“Of course you want to know,” Jehan said, starting to wrestle the plastic wrap off the stack of plates. 

“Fair point. I more meant, if I were to do shots, how many would I need to calmly handle the news?” 

“That’s not a good idea right now, Éponine.” Jehan shut the cabinet door a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Hey, it was just a joke.” Jehan stood there with their arms wrapped around themselves. “Hug?” She had never been very good at things like this, but they had helped her realize showing physical platonic affection would not make the world screech to a halt or explode or end in any way. They readily accepted, and Éponine rubbed Jehan’s back a little while carefully listening for any sounds from Grantaire and Enjolras’s bedroom. She had no idea how either of them would react to the scene, and it would be best not to find out. “Want to talk about it?” she coaxed.

“This is – just – I don’t know. This is really hard,” they admitted quietly. “I decided to do some work today, and I totally missed how upset Enjolras had gotten. It’s my job to take care of them, and I messed it all up.”

“Jehan,” Éponine tried to hide the exasperation in her voice, “no one expects you to be perfect. Even though you basically are. I’m sure Grantaire and Enjolras will really appreciate everything you’re doing for them when they’re feeling better.” She tilted her head to see through the glass on the cabinet door. There were very few dishes there besides the plastic ones she had just bought. “Did Enjolras break everything?”

“He did,” they confirmed. “He was absolutely crushed to find out the death penalty wasn’t an option. I looked it up – it’s been illegal for way longer than they were gone. He must want Montparnasse dead so badly that he made himself forget or repressed it or just hoped it had changed, or something. I can’t imagine what that must have felt like to re-learn. I doubt he was able to express himself for the last few years, and it must be so hard. On the surface he seems so angry, but I think he’s just really scared and sad and ashamed that his emotions are so out-of-control.”

“If you were anyone else, I would’ve assumed you were parroting Cosette, but I know you’re not. So, how did you handle it?”

“What? Oh, I figured the worst that might happen was Enjolras nicking himself or R, so I just let him get it out of his system. He tired out pretty quickly.”

“And then?” 

“What do you mean, and then?”

“Jehan, I mean, and then what did you say and do after Enjolras had stopped smashing everything he could get his hands on?”

“I reassured him it was fine and that I could just buy new dishes?” They sounded confused, like this reaction was obvious and Éponine should’ve guessed because it was what anyone would have done. “The only hard part was using enough bags so that the garbage collectors won’t get hurt.” Éponine didn’t think the rest of the world would agree that was the only hard part of the situation, but Jehan was as sincere as always.

“Jehan, OK, I know you love your radical ideas, but maybe this is too out-there even for you. Most people would not just be able to calmly stand by while their friend threw a tantrum and broke their shit and then not be one tiny little bit angry afterwards.”

She knew Jehan was frowning against her. “But it’s not his fault. It’s not like he’s capable of calmly discussing what’s bothering him and he’s choosing not to. He just can’t do it. If I try to make him bottle up his emotions, he’ll just explode even worse eventually.”

“I know it’s not his fault. But most people would have trouble wrapping their heads around it so easily. Destructive rages aren’t exactly easy to deal with.” Jehan only hummed like they were considering that but didn’t really understand it. This wasn’t working – she’d have to try cheering Jehan up later some other way. “Why did, uh, what’s happening to Montparnasse come up anyway?” 

“Oh.” She knew that “oh.” It meant she wasn’t going to like the answer. “The police want to interview them tomorrow, thoroughly. Marius came to talk them through what would happen, and Cosette was supposed to help them prepare.”

Éponine was jealous Enjolras had already broken just about everything worth breaking. It didn’t sound like a half-bad idea. “No one bothered to tell me this?”

“Éponine, Marius didn’t text me until you were already gone. I knew it would be hard enough going back to work, and I didn’t want to upset you. Cosette’s the only one of us with any real training on how to deal with issues like this. I can be patient with Enjolras when he vents his emotions, but I don’t know how to proactively help him fix them.” Just because that made sense didn’t mean Éponine had to like it. 

“Fuck. Jehan. Do they really have to? Why do they have to relive all of that?”

“They’re going to have to relive it in court. At least the police can narrow down exactly what to ask in private. I’m trying to remind myself the trial will give them closure, even if it won’t be an easy road for them to get there.” That made sense, too, and she did like that slightly better.

“Well, how did the discussion go? Other than the destruction.”

Jehan sighed again but let go of her to start pulling out the food from the other bag. “I don’t know. Enjolras is much more demonstrative, but it’s clear that Grantaire is terrified of Cosette. I don’t know if it’s the brainwashing, or something else. I think Enjolras knows, but I doubt he’s going to say. He just about interrogated Marius about what’s going to happen and insisted on a bunch of accommodations, but whenever Cosette tried to make suggestions, he acted like she wasn’t even in the room.”

“And R?”

“He just sat there the whole time. He let Enjolras keep a death-grip on him, so he must have been feeling pretty horrible.” Jehan wrapped their arms around themselves again after setting a pot of water on the stove. “I just wish I could give him a hug and reassure him we all love him and that everything will be alright and have him understand me.”

“I would strongly advise against that. I don’t want you ending up like our plates. You know I couldn’t make rent by myself.”

“Yes, I’m sure the rent is what you’re really worried about,” Jehan with a small smile. 

Éponine sat down at the table and propped her feet up on the opposite chair. She had forgotten how tiring standing all day could be. She also hadn’t properly predicted how tiring telling every client there had been a non-descript family emergency before steering the conversation away to something else would be. Not that she would complain. Grantaire and Enjolras still sort of looked like they went days without eating. The least she could do was help provide for them so they could get better. Every time she had been close to snapping, she remembered the deep circular scars on Enjolras’s wrists, often visible because the arms of Grantaire’s sweaters were a little too short for him, and then she was able to easily discuss the weather and latest neighborhood gossip without stopping to let her head explode. “Why the mac and cheese?” she asked as Jehan continued to putter around the kitchen.

Their smile vanished. “R just looked so terribly sad. Whatever his fear of Cosette is all about, he still has to talk to the police tomorrow, and I’m really worried he won’t want to eat. I thought making one of his favorites would help.”

“Does Joly know you’re making something so artificial?” She tried to keep her voice light, but she really wanted to go kick down the door and give Grantaire a hug, too. Or go to the jail and see how much she could hurt Montparnasse before the guards dragged her off. How much did it take to bribe prison guards? She should really do some research.

“Combeferre managed to convince him Grantaire and Enjolras need calories now more than anything. He would be more concerned if Grantaire didn’t eat at all.” There was a companionable silence for a time. Jehan was just finishing mixing in the bright powder when Enjolras emerged from his room, alone. He looked tired and drained, but his face was set. It must be so exhausting to have every interaction feel like a battle.

“Hello, Enjolras,” they said when they turned and saw him. “Would the two of you like dinner?” 

He stared at Jehan and then said, “We’re going to eat in our room.” He was pretty calm, but Éponine could hear the hysteria bubbling just under the surface, waiting to burst out. 

“Does R not feel up to eating at the table?” Jehan asked, and Enjolras’s face twisted horribly before he got himself back under control. 

“We’re going to eat in our room.”

“Enjolras, if you’re worried about Grantaire, we’re here to help.” Jehan smiled gently, but Éponine winced.

“You think I don’t know how to take care of him?” Enjolras snapped, not all the way to yelling, but that didn’t seem far away, if this conversation continued. 

“Shh, no, Enjolras, that’s not at all what I’m trying to say. I just know it must be really hard to see Grantaire so upset, and we want to help you make him feel better.” 

“What? So you’re just saying I do a bad job?” Now Enjolras had hit hysterical. Éponine had to wonder how Jehan could be so unruffled by all of this and still feel like they were doing a bad job. It wasn’t really personal, it was just a weird circumstance of fate that Enjolras had latched onto Jehan, and Enjolras would probably yell at anyone in Jehan’s place, but Éponine didn’t really want to get yelled at by him, either.

“No, Enjolras. I can tell how much you love Grantaire, and I think you do a great job. But we’re all in agreement that we want Grantaire to eat his dinner, and Éponine and I can help with that.”

Enjolras’s face twisted again, and he looked closer to faltering. Then he tensed again. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

Jehan’s face fell, and Éponine shook her head at them slightly. They weren’t doing anything wrong, Enjolras had just come out wound-up and looking for a fight. “You’re right, Enjolras, you don’t have to listen. I’m not trying to force you to do anything you don’t want to.” Enjolras hadn’t quite found a way to double down on his argument when Grantaire shuffled out, wrapped up like usual, with his head bowed. The fight went out of Enjolras when he saw Jehan looking over his shoulder and turned to see for himself. 

He rushed to Grantaire’s side, and while Éponine couldn’t hear whatever he whispered, it was clear from his body language that he wanted Grantaire to go back to their room, but Grantaire shook his head and walked over to the table, slumping into one of the empty seats. He didn’t look up, and Éponine was worried he’d ooze down onto the floor, but it was enough to deflate Enjolras the rest of the way. Éponine swung her feet down so that Enjolras could sit next to him.

She had initially had her worries about Enjolras being Grantaire’s partner. It probably wasn’t healthy how much Grantaire loved him, but there was no changing that, and R deserved someone who loved him back just as much. Enjolras never struck her as someone who would like mushy romantic shit or would put up with clinginess, those things would probably get in the way of fixing all the problems of the world, and she didn’t want Grantaire to get hurt, especially not when he was so very vulnerable. Enjolras had certainly gone out of his way to be with Grantaire at the hospital, but it was hard to be know if it was really love, or just a manifestation of his own issues. But even after leaving, Enjolras had continued to be nothing but protective and attentive and patient. He looked almost as disheartened as Grantaire now, but he was still petting one of his partner’s hands under the table and watching him closely.

Enjolras flinched when Jehan set two of the new plates in front of him and Grantaire, and then he looked away, embarrassed. Jehan had been right – he was deeply ashamed of how he had acted. Éponine didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it would help Enjolras to work everything out of his system with no inhibitions, but it was probably better in the long-term that he remembered the rules of normal behavior, even if only to ignore them. 

Enjolras picked up his fork but then set it back down when he noticed Grantaire still sitting motionless. He folded his arms across his chest, and when Grantaire continued to ignore the food, Enjolras went back to rubbing his hand. “R, I know it might not feel like, but I promise you’ll feel better if you eat something,” Jehan encouraged as they set plates out for themselves and Éponine. Enjolras narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. Maybe it was harder than Éponine imagined. She didn’t like Cosette showing up and trying to tell her how to make Grantaire feel better. Maybe Enjolras felt the same way about anyone else encroaching on his territory. At least Éponine was very confident in the fact she could ignore just about everyone else’s advice if she wanted, when Enjolras still felt like he could be forced into obedience. But that was all just pointless philosophical musing, since Grantaire still wasn’t eating, and that was the whole point of this exercise.

“R, Enjolras is just worried about you. It will make him feel better if you eat.” Enjolras shot her a look of disapproval, she was honestly proud that he could muster up one so stern, but he relaxed when Grantaire did manage to pick up his fork. He pushed it limply around his plate, only picking up a few pieces of macaroni at a time, but it was something. Enjolras watched him closely until Grantaire had picked up some momentum, before starting his own meal. She glanced at Jehan, and they only shrugged at her, unhappy, but understanding that her method, however questionable, had worked. 

Dinner was awkward and quiet, with Grantaire needing some additional encouragement from Enjolras to finish everything. When Enjolras gently helped him stand, Grantaire still had never looked up, but now he looked more like he was going to sleep instead of staring at the ceiling in misery all night. “I’m sure you’ll be up in time tomorrow, but I’ll come knock on your door in time for breakfast if you’re not,” Jehan said. 

“We’re not going anywhere without Bahorel,” Enjolras said, not quite as worked up as he had been when he first came out, but it sounded like he could get there again, given enough time.

“He’ll come over when he’s done with his morning clients, and then we’ll all take a taxi to the station, Enjolras. Just like I promised.” Enjolras nodded jerkily and then took Grantaire away without saying anything else.

Jehan put their head in their hands after the bedroom door closed. “You handled that great,” Éponine said and nudged them. “I don’t know how you stay so calm.”

“Do you think it helps at all?” 

“Shit, of course it helps, Jehan. They can’t just unlearn four years of torture in a couple of months. Especially not when all their emotions are so raw. I’m sure once tomorrow’s tomfuckery is over, they’ll both feel better.” Jehan wiped at their face. “Come on, I’ll do the dishes, and then we can watch whatever weird stuff is on the crafting channel while you knit hats for a whole platoon of babies.”

“Babies don’t come in platoons. And the crafting channel is not weird,” Jehan complained half-heartedly, but by the time Éponine was finished in the kitchen, they had already turned it on to some show about making stained glass. All very practical and normal, yes, not weird at all. She wondered how someone got a job like that, and where she could sign up for it. After a few episodes, Éponine felt ready to decorate her very own cathedral, though it seemed like she wouldn’t get the chance, since there was a loud clatter from Grantaire and Enjolras’s room. She looked over at Jehan when she heard one of them struggling with the lock. Were they stuck? That didn’t explain the original noise, or why the noises now sounded random instead of methodical. 

They looked at each other again when Enjolras stumbled out, eyes open but blank, a horrified Grantaire at his heels. He kept trying to touch Enjolras’s shoulder, but Enjolras took no notice. “Enjolras?” Jehan asked, but Enjolras didn’t seem to have even heard. Not only did he not look around, but he was still relaxed. 

“I think he’s sleep-walking,” Éponine observed. It should have been obvious, it would have been obvious if the sleep-walker had been anyone else, but Enjolras’s behavior could be so erratic and bizarre it hadn’t struck her immediately. Enjolras didn’t react to her words either, as he started to tug on the door to their balcony. The lock was a simple lever, but he ignored it and just pulled firmly, but futilely, on the handle. Shit, what had Combeferre said to do if this happened? 

She wondered how much time she had, but Enjolras was still calmly working at his impossible task, so she groped for her phone and searched through the Google Doc he and Joly had made for everyone, but mostly her and Jehan, of problems they thought might arise but could be handled by all their non-medical friends with a little guidance. Grantaire had sometimes had depression-related insomnia while Enjolras had no history of sleep issues, but neither doctor was sure how all the stress and environment changes would affect them. “Um, R, can you try to turn Enjolras around and get him to walk back on his own?” 

Grantaire looked even more horrified, but he tried first to take Enjolras’s elbow and then to turn him gently by the shoulders. Enjolras shrugged the first few attempts off and mumbled something that might have been “no” but might have just been a sound. Grantaire looked at her and Jehan, eyes huge and wide, and then tried to pull Enjolras’s hands off the door. Éponine felt Jehan fly into the air next to her when they both jumped as Enjolras started to scream. It was the most horrible sound she had ever heard. Grantaire had turned white but when he tried to grab Enjolras, he was violently shoved away and the screaming intensified. He looked hurt as well as horrified now, but he stood out of reach, hands over his mouth. 

It felt like it went on forever, but the lady on the TV was still working on her same piece when Enjolras stopped. Her quiet narration was even louder than the screaming. Enjolras’s eyes were still open, but he relaxed against the door and shivered against the cold. Grantaire approached timidly, but this time when he grazed Enjolras’s shoulders, Enjolras obediently shambled in the direction Grantaire guided him without protest. 

“Holy shit,” she said when they were gone. Jehan looked shell-shocked next to her. She didn’t know what to say. That feeling only intensified when Grantaire came back after a few minutes. He hadn’t bothered to put his comforter on, and he was trembling all over. He sank to his knees. Éponine wanted to get up and haul him to his feet, despite knowing that would do more harm than good. She was glad Jehan was there.

“R, please get up. No one is upset with you. No one is upset with Enjolras.” 

“Please-” was all he managed to get out before there was a loud knocking on the door. 

“Fuck.” Éponine sprang up and hurried over. She looked out the peep hole and saw two cops standing there. She undid the bolt but left the chain on the door and made sure her body blocked their view. She didn’t want to find out what they would think was happening if, after getting a report of a man screaming bloody murder, they saw one kneeling and afraid in her family room. And she had no intention of broadcasting what was really happening for any nosy neighbor to hear. She was still tired from work, but the adrenaline gave her the boost she needed to put on her best customer service face back on.

“Hello, officers, how can I help you?” 

“We received a report of someone screaming in your apartment. Do you know anything about that?” 

“I’m sorry. My roommate had a night terror. That must have been quite the scare for our neighbors!” 

“A night terror? So early in the evening?” The cop who spoke sounded skeptical, and the one next to him didn’t look any more convinced. Fuck fuck fuck. Thank every god that ever existed that Jehan was there to bail her ass out.

“Éponine?” they asked, yawning, and she moved enough that the police could see them. “Why are the police here? Is something wrong?” It was amazing how groggy they sounded.

“It’s alright, Jehan. You just had, you know….”

They looked down, as if ashamed. “Was I that loud? I’m sorry. I’ve been getting better, but I can’t help it.” They were almost on the verge of tears. “I’ll apologize to the neighbors tomorrow.” 

“You can’t remember night terrors,” she stage-whispered to the cops, like Jehan couldn’t hear her but would be upset if they could. 

“Ah, well, that’s very unfortunate. Why don’t you get some rest? And maybe warn your neighbors so they don’t think anyone’s getting murdered in here.”

“Of course. We’ll be sure to do that.” Éponine gave her best smile. “We’re very sorry for the trouble.” She sagged against the door after shutting it. “Holy fuck. Good job. You should try out for Broadway or something.”

“You can thank me later.” Jehan’s voice was harder than she had expected. She looked up to see Grantaire still on his knees, crying now. Enjolras was back, eyes sleepy but definitely focused, though it looked like he might start screaming again with the slightest push. He stared at her and Jehan and then rushed to Grantaire’s side, wrapping him into his arms. 

“Please,” Grantaire started again, voice muffled but still understandable. “Please don’t let them take him away. He didn’t mean to. I won’t let it happen again. Please.” Grantaire was totally heart-broken, like he truly thought they had meant to have the cops take Enjolras as punishment for having done something completely out of his control.

“What’s happening?” Enjolras asked, voice not totally confident as he struggled to wake up. 

“Please,” Grantaire repeated. Éponine wondered if this had ever worked before, but she had to stop because the idea made her sick. 

“Enjolras, everything’s alright. You had a night terror, and someone heard and called the police. It wasn’t a threat. We’re not going to punish either of you.”

“You’re lying,” he shouted, kneeling up straighter while still pressing Grantaire to him. “Why were they really here?”

“They’re not lying,” Grantaire mumbled through his tears. Éponine didn’t know why she expected that would solve the problem. It was too easy, and things that were too easy weren’t allowed in her life anymore. 

“What’s happening? Why isn’t Grantaire allowed to tell me?” 

“Enjolras,” Jehan soothed, “Grantaire can tell you whatever he wants. That really is what happened. You were trying to get on the balcony, and when Grantaire tried to stop you, you started screaming. But you’re not going to be able to remember.”

Enjolras gave them a guarded look, which probably meant he didn’t have any better ideas but was afraid to trust them. It was hard to blame him. He lifted Grantaire up. “We’re not talking to the police without Bahorel.”

“I know. Those were completely different officers, and they were here for a completely different reason. Everything tomorrow will be just like we planned. Why don’t you get some rest?” 

After they had gone, again, Éponine staggered to the sofa and flopped down. “That was honestly better than expected. I thought Enjolras was going to murder us.”

“But Grantaire still thinks we might separate them. Or do something bad for things they can’t help. I wish we knew how to help him get his memory back.”

“It’s better not to force it. Besides, it’s not remembering made Enjolras super trusting and friendly.” 

“Was he ever super trusting and friendly? But you’re right.” If Jehan wasn’t some kind of magical fairy nymph thing, they might look suddenly old. “I think I am going to go to bed.”

“I’ll join you,” Éponine agreed. It had been a very long day. But even still, she laid awake in bed, listening to Jehan’s even breathing nearby. She had never understood why they needed a king-sized bed in a New York apartment, since it took up most of their space, but she had to admit it did make their platonic bed-sharing much less awkward. It had only made sense to put her little twin into storage, and Jehan was so small, that she really had more space now. 

She only realized she had slept at all when she finally looked at her phone and was surprised to see how much time had passed. It would still be dark for a few hours, but she didn’t feel like sleep was going to happen again any time soon. She got up, intending to make herself a cup of coffee and maybe doze on the couch if she could manage it.

She wasn’t sure if she was surprised or not to find Enjolras standing at the balcony door. She didn’t know if anything surprised her or not these days. He turned a little. “I’m awake this time,” he said quietly, not disturbing the night-quiet of the apartment. She looked around just to be sure, but she didn’t see Grantaire. “He’s still sleeping.”

“Do you believe us?” she asked, a little tentatively, since Jehan wasn’t around if she fucked this up. Enjolras was balanced on the edge of a knife, and she didn’t want to make him stray, a little or otherwise.

Enjolras kept staring out into the early morning dark. “I don’t think you’re lying, but I don’t trust you.” 

“I don’t blame you.” She saw Enjolras smile a little, briefly, in reflection. “I would offer you some coffee, but we have strict instructions from Combeferre to not let you have any. Something about you possibly using it instead of sleeping properly.” That made Enjolras let out a tiny snort. He hadn’t moved from his post when she settled on the couch with her mug and waited for it to cool. Whatever Enjolras had on his mind, she didn’t think trying to pry it out of him would work. Worst case scenario he could just have some quiet thinking time.

She was halfway through her cup when he said quietly, “He always took such good care of me after.”

“After you had – outside?” she asked like a smart person. 

“Yes. Even when he knew he was going to get in trouble for doing too much. Even when he – when he negotiated to end it early. I was never capable of stopping him in that state, so he just did it. And he never complained. About any of it. Ever.”

“He really loves you, Enjolras.” He leaned his head against the door. It must be cold and uncomfortable.

“He won’t let me in the room tomorrow. Today. He won’t say it directly, but he thinks I’m going to reject him.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” There were so many ways that information could have been used to torture them, whether in the telling or in the withholding. 

Enjolras shrugged. “Yes and no. He would never talk about it, but I’m not blind or deaf. Or stupid. I can extrapolate pretty well.”

“Hypothetically, if you knew everything, would it change how you felt?”

“Of course not,” Enjolras lifted his head to turn and hiss at her. “I just don’t want to trigger him, and that’s so hard when I don’t know what might set him off.” He dropped his head back. “I don’t know what to do. He does everything for me, and all I’m doing is forcing him to do something he doesn’t want to. Jehan’s right. I don’t know how to make him happy.”

“Enjolras, you know that’s not what Jehan was saying. And even if it was, that’s not true. I’m sure Grantaire is ecstatic just to be with you. It’s his natural defense mechanism to assume he’s going to lose you, so that it hurts less if, or in his mind when, it does happen.”

“I’m not going to leave him!”

“I know. But it’s hard for him to accept. So tell him that. A lot. And then tell him some more.”

“Won’t it lose its effect if I say it too much? I don’t want him to think I’m insincere.”

“We’ve told you countless times we’re not going to hurt you. Next time you worry should we not bother?”

Enjolras was quiet for awhile. “What else should I do?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, Grantaire was much more open about what he liked in bed more than anything else.” She didn’t miss the face Enjolras made, but she decided to ignore it. “But he’s always loved you more than anything. He’s probably just happy being around you.”

Enjolras turned to give her a skeptical look but then looked thoughtful when he saw she was serious. “Is it really that simple for him?”

“Yes. It’s not easy, but it is simple.” She drank more of her coffee. The sky was starting to turn gray. The lack of sleep would be worth it, though. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want Bahorel to come along?”

Enjolras looked surprised, like he had been far away from that particular thought. “Marius said we’re just there as witnesses, that we can ask for breaks and don’t have to answer every question. I – I want someone there that knows what’s happening but can stop it if it goes wrong.”

“Are you saying Marius isn’t the one for intimidating police if it gets out of hand?” She held a straight face as Enjolras looked at her askance, but he laughed a little when she finally did. “That’s a good choice. Bahorel will keep everyone on the straight and narrow.” Enjolras didn’t respond and went back to looking outside. She must have dozed off in the silence, because when she opened her eyes, the sun was up, Enjolras was gone, and there was a blanket draped over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I found lots of things explaining that sleep-walking and night terrors go together, but no real descriptions as to how, so I used my handy dandy Imagination to fill in the gaps. (Also used for what happens when the night terror ends...no one was super clear on that either???) It sounds like it's very very rare to have them start as an adult, but I feel like Enjolras deserves them, after everything.


	44. Chapter Forty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I am back sooner than expected due to altitude sickness and terrible sunburn. 0/10, would not recommend.

When Enjolras woke up, he wasn't sure if he was surprised to find Grantaire curled up against him, both hands fisted in his sweater. After the previous episode when they had slept like that, Enjolras assumed Grantaire was already awake, though his breathing was calm and regular. He didn't know if this was about his apparent night terror or the subsequent police visit or the impending interrogation with the police. 

He longed to know which it was but he tried to heed Éponine’s advice. Instead of wasting time trying to reason it through, he just started to rub Grantaire’s back in slow circles. It must have been fairly distressing, whatever it actually was, because Grantaire pushed against Enjolras even more. Enjolras wondered if he should apologize for wandering around in the night screaming or for making Grantaire worry that the police were there to separate them or for caving so easily to Marius’s order that they talk to the police. Instead he whispered, “Grantaire, I love you. I'm right here.” 

“You don't have to be,” Grantaire said, and even though his voice was muffled, the misery in it was more than evident. Did that explain the closeness? Was Grantaire trying to say goodbye in his own way? 

“I'm here because I love you, Grantaire. Nothing can change that.” 

“But what if you hear?” Grantaire already sounded devastated by the thought alone. Enjolras took some time to consider his answer, petting Grantaire the entire time. 

“Grantaire, I - I know you didn't want to talk about, that you don't want to talk about it, but - I can guess some of what must have happened. And it doesn't change the way I feel about you. Nothing I could hear would change that. Not that I'm trying to pressure you to talk about it - I respect your right to privacy.” Grantaire didn't reply, but he didn't relax either. “Grantaire, I promise if I can hear you, I'll leave the room right away and get them to fix it.”

There was a long silence, and Enjolras thought about Éponine when he was tempted to babble more reassurances. Grantaire was being so very brave, and he was hurting so very much. But Enjolras could lay there with him and hold him as long as Grantaire wanted and needed. 

The room had brightened significantly when Grantaire whispered, “You won't let them touch me?” 

“Of course not!” Enjolras lowered his voice. “I promise I'll be watching the whole time, and I'll make Bahorel stop them if they try anything.” 

Grantaire didn't immediately reply, but he tensed up even more, like he was working up the nerve to say...something. “Is it because I'm yours?” he asked so softly Enjolras needed a few moments to process the words. 

“It's because it wouldn't be consensual!” Enjolras almost yelled, again. “No one should touch another against their will.” 

“Oh.” Enjolras didn't know how one word could contain so much heartbreak.

“No, Grantaire,” he almost wanted to find Éponine before he made this mess even worse, “you misunderstand me. Even if you weren't my partner, I would be very...upset if someone violated you, no matter to what degree.” He swallowed. It would be so...possessive to say he would be more than very upset if someone assaulted Grantaire, specifically because they were partners. The whole idea was abominable, but shouldn't it be equally an abomination for everyone? No one deserved to be raped more or less than Grantaire did, but he had to admit if, in some fantastical scenario, he had to choose between Grantaire and anyone else, he wouldn't have to think about it. “But yes, it would tear me to pieces if anyone ever hurt you again. If it helps remind you that I'm there to watch over you, you can think of it like that. Remember, if it's something I can't see, just give me the signal and I'll come.” 

“Both my hands on the table,” Grantaire confirmed, still morose. 

“Yes. And, how about - put one hand on the table if you just need me but the police aren't hurting you. I can come then, but Bahorel won't beat anyone up.” Grantaire squirmed a little. “I'll take the blame if I you do that, Grantaire. You won't have to explain.”

“Enjolras, I'm pretty sure the police will be smart enough to figure it out. This isn't exactly Enigma machine levels of code here,” Grantaire said, more wry than sad now. Enjolras couldn't resist giving him a little squeeze. He hadn't even realized how much of Grantaire’s personality had been lost until it started to return. 

“Maybe. But this is stressful enough, Grantaire. I want you to have an out you can pin on someone else if you need it.”

“Marius said I could take breaks whenever I want.”

“I know. But it's hard enough to ask Jehan or Éponine for things. I don't want you to be stuck with the police.” Grantaire squirmed a little more and then pulled away.

“I'm going to shower,” he said. “Is it - I don't really want to talk anymore.” 

“Of course. Whatever you want.” There was plenty of painful, horrible talking in Grantaire’s immediate future, and if remaining silent until then helped, that was exactly what he should do. “I’ll explain to Éponine and Jehan if they press.” He snuck a brief kiss to Grantaire’s forehead as he pulled away. Enjolras sat up as well and watched with a mixture of gratification and worry as Grantaire picked out not only another of Enjolras’s hoodies, but also a pair of his pajama pants, along with another onesie. 

Enjolras forced himself up when he heard the water start. He hesitated when it came to picking out his own clothes. He wanted the police to take him seriously; he wanted them to listen and stop and leave Grantaire alone if he told them to. They probably wouldn’t, no matter what, but it wouldn’t help his cause to also be dressed in pajamas. 

He could feel the beginnings of a headache, but he tried to ignore it. After spending years in nothing but a T-shirt and boxers, it was overwhelming trying to choose between options. Wearing one of Grantaire’s sweaters and a pair of his own pajama pants was really just an extension of that basic concept; it was more comfortable and more comforting, and it was wonderful to have a clean set to put on each day, but it still didn’t involve making any real choices. He had seen that their closet had different things he could wear if he wanted to branch out, but matching his outfit to his environment just sounded…challenging. 

What did victims and witnesses even wear when they talked to the police? That must vary based on numerous different factors, but what would the police expect? A suit? Business casual? Jeans? He could pick any of those if he wanted, but he had to wonder if it would make a difference. Not that he was growing vain, but he now spent far more time looking at himself in the mirror doing, or trying to do, all the grooming tasks expected of a normal person – washing his face, brushing his teeth, trying to make his hair look as nice as it had after Éponine had cut it, whereas before the mirror was only for looking at injuries he couldn’t easily see. 

He couldn’t pretend, even to himself, that he could pass as a regular person. He still hadn’t put back on all his lost weight, and his eyes were haunted, and the spot where he chewed on his lip wasn’t exactly hard to notice, and his face was taut with anxiety. And even if he magically fixed all those problems, he could still probably pass as a high schooler – maybe a college freshman or sophomore if the ordeal had aged him enough. Pajamas or no pajamas, he was going to look like a frightened child. 

Still, it was hard to shake the guilt. Shouldn’t he be willing to try if there was a chance it might make things easier for Grantaire? Or would Grantaire feel ashamed if Enjolras wore real clothes while he did not? Enjolras toyed with the pair of fleece pants he had taken out of the drawer, holding the waistband so he could make both ends of the string even. His hands stilled and it took a concerted effort not to twist them together. If he still relied on the string to make the pants stay on, that meant any real pants would require a belt. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

Master’s belt had always been a convenient and versatile way to punish or hurt Enjolras, and Master had therefore taken advantage of it frequently. He could leave it unfolded and wield it like a whip or double it up for a solid thrashing or flip it around to utilize the buckle. Grantaire had always known what to do in each case, or maybe he had eventually figured out what to do and it just felt like always in hindsight; that was the reminder Enjolras needed to exhale and relax slightly. He knew he wasn’t about to engage in self-flagellation, and even he couldn’t picture a scenario where someone would remove it in order to beat him with his own belt, but that didn’t stop the anxious thoughts, and those would distract him from caring for Grantaire, the way Grantaire had cared for him. He would just have to trust Bahorel.

Admittedly, that decision didn’t stop the anxious thoughts either. He knew – logically, he knew Bahorel wasn’t going to beat him, wasn’t going to hurt him in any way, despite his appearance. If Bahorel had actually harbored any such intentions, Éponine would’ve beaten him long ago and then banned him from their presence. And Bahorel knew the law and would know if an intervention was called for and he could be sufficiently intimidating to back up any such action; if anyone went too far or tried to do anything to Grantaire, Bahorel would recognize it and stop it. But that was logic.

Another part of Enjolras’s brain knew, with a similar level of conviction, that if he was a bad boy, Bahorel would hurt him, and whatever care Grantaire inevitably gave him wouldn’t come free, even if Enjolras never knew the price. His recent behavior could be described as erratic and tempestuous, and that would be an extremely charitable way of putting it; he had never acted that way around Master, at least not to that extreme degree and with no real purpose, and that meant it was very, very, very bad behavior indeed. Just because that logical part of his brain recognized that such behavior, while not generally socially acceptable, was understandable given the circumstances, didn’t mean it wasn’t bad. Stealing food wasn’t socially acceptable but had been understandable when he and Grantaire were starving, but it was still bad. 

What if Jehan and Éponine had just been waiting to leave Enjolras alone with Bahorel? There were approximately a million reasons why that didn’t make any sense, but once the idea was implanted in his mind, he couldn’t shake it. He heard the water turn off and knew he needed to get over himself so he could shower as fast as possible and therefore get back to Grantaire as fast as possible. He would just have to ask Bahorel to please wait and punish him for everything he did wrong all at once, after they had left the police station. He hated the waiting, hated the awful gut-wrenching anticipation, hated how worked up he got imagining what would happen, but he could deal with it. He would do his best to be good and try not to make a fuss when he was hurt. Grantaire had gone through far worse for him, without any complaints. 

Enjolras pulled out a clean sweater to go with his pants and showered as quickly as he could. When he finished, he could hear Jehan’s cajoling tone and hurried out, not even bothering to towel-dry his hair. It would get his sweater damp and no doubt be cold when he went outside, but that hardly mattered if something bad was happening to Grantaire. Enjolras found him backed into the corner behind the kitchen table, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut. Jehan was standing out of reach, holding a bowl of oatmeal. Enjolras moved to stand in front of Grantaire. He wished he could take Grantaire’s hand to reassure him, but they were buried underneath his comforter.

He wished he had guessed Grantaire would be too nervous to eat, so that he could’ve gone out first and argued with Jehan so that Grantaire didn’t have to. “R, I know you’re scared, but I promise you’ll feel better if you eat something,” Jehan insisted, leaning to the side to try to see around Enjolras. He could feel Grantaire shaking, though he didn’t make a sound.

“He doesn’t want to,” Enjolras said, struggling to keep his voice from shaking as well. He had never begged to not eat before, and it made him a little light-headed. What if Jehan punished them by never feeding Grantaire again? Enjolras would willingly share his own food or try to steal extra, but he didn’t want Grantaire to have to worry about when his next meal was coming ever again. 

Jehan looked conflicted but then sighed. Enjolras flinched, almost expecting to be hit or pulled away, but Jehan only asked, “Will you eat something, Enjolras?” He wanted to say no, to stand in solidarity with Grantaire: however odd it felt to turn down an opportunity to eat, one missed meal at the rate Jehan fed them would hardly matter, the discomfort would hardly register. But Grantaire was jabbing him in the back, like he had guessed Enjolras’s thoughts and didn’t want him to go without just because Grantaire was. He wanted to make a point to Grantaire that he was with him, but if Grantaire preferred him to eat, then he should respect that, even if it made him uncomfortable. 

Enjolras nodded and wordlessly picked up the oatmeal Jehan had set down and tried to eat it without tasting it; he would do what Grantaire wanted, but that didn’t mean he had to unequivocally enjoy the experience. Jehan relaxed but still looked concerned. Combeferre had said it was important for the two of them to eat enough calories every day, and maybe Jehan felt guilty they weren’t getting Grantaire to that target. It still seemed so strange, that sometimes Master had starved Grantaire to the point he could hardly stand for the hunger, and Jehan was getting worked up over a single missed meal, one Grantaire most likely wouldn’t be able to keep down anyway. But Jehan seemed to like when the two of them ate, and they were responsible for getting them to eat, so maybe it did make sense.

Once they were satisfied that Enjolras was going to obey, they started fluttering around the kitchen, packing snacks into a reusable bag. Enjolras didn’t think Grantaire would suddenly be up for eating at the police station, but at least he would have time to think of something. He had almost finished eating when Éponine emerged from her room, dressed for work, looking a little tired after her insomnia, though she hid it almost as well as Grantaire did. Enjolras felt suddenly self-conscious as she surveyed the scene. She must have heard what had happened, and she usually sided with Grantaire, but he had never refused to eat like this before. Enjolras waited, worried he would have to stand up to her as well as Jehan, but she only asked, “Grantaire, would you at least drink some juice?”

Grantaire would, albeit very reluctantly. Enjolras hovered over him, a little guilty that he was happy Grantaire was having something. Éponine was just about ready to leave when there was a knock on the door. Grantaire froze, glass halfway to his mouth, probably remembering how the police had come the night before. Enjolras reached out and gently touched one of Grantaire’s now-exposed hands, and he kept it there, even when they saw it was only Bahorel. Enjolras was a little relieved to see he was still wearing gym clothes; it might look like they were all heading to a slumber party, but at least they would all match. Well, Jehan didn’t really match the pajama aesthetic, but they were so unique that they would never match.

“Shit, all I’m doing is cutting people’s hair, and I have to dress way nicer than that,” Éponine grumbled as she shoved things into her purse.

“Good morning to you, too, Éponine,” Bahorel said cheerfully. “Jehan, I brought you what the barista assured me was the weirdest tea they had.” He set a cup on the counter, which Jehan ignored as they continued to pack food like they were all going to be gone for a month. Bahorel waved at him and Grantaire, but Enjolras could only stare awkwardly and then look at the floor. He knew he should probably say hello, at least, after abruptly dragging Bahorel away from whatever he had planned to do that day to chaperone this excursion, but he couldn’t. 

Éponine left, after giving Enjolras an encouraging smile, and while Bahorel and Jehan spoke quietly, Enjolras used the opportunity to give Grantaire a final hug. He tried not to be disappointed when Grantaire didn’t react and instead focused on being as attentive as possible while Jehan helped them bundle up and Bahorel went down to hail a cab. Going down the stairs was still tiring, but he made sure to support Grantaire and then smushed him against the door once in the taxi. Grantaire’s face was blank and his eyes were distant; Enjolras knew that meant Grantaire was mentally somewhere else, but he kept pressing against him and hoping it helped, wherever Grantaire was.

He lost track of time until the taxi slowed in front of the police station. There were quite a few people going in and out, but none of them paid any attention to Enjolras or Grantaire, despite their unconventional dress. Jehan paid the driver and then hung back, letting Bahorel take the lead. Enjolras tried to focus all his energy on Grantaire, but he couldn’t help but let the guilt creep in. He and Grantaire were adults, they should be able to go places on their own, instead of dragging two of their friends away from work to babysit them. Jehan wasn’t even going to do anything but sit quietly somewhere nearby with their laptop, but the thought of them not being there, not having a sure ally, made Enjolras want to panic.

Just being in the police station made him want to panic. Going to court and having Master be there had been surreal, but this was putting him on edge. Even when he had despaired of ever being rescued, he had known the police were supposed to help them if they could. He would never have run to a courthouse for help, but he would’ve gone to a police station if he had found one. And despite the fact he and Grantaire had practically been ordered to come, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being bad; trying to escape and get help was very bad. He tried to think about nothing but rubbing Grantaire’s back, with hands that were not going to be bound in punishment, as Bahorel stopped at a reception desk, but the anxiety gnawed at him. 

What if this was an elaborate plan to separate them? He knew that made no sense, he knew the police wouldn’t do such a thing, couldn’t legally do such a thing, but he barely kept himself from making an extremely embarrassing noise when Jehan gently touched his shoulder. He could feel Master’s hands on him, pulling him away, even as Jehan withdrew their hand and they all trooped after Bahorel. He tried to stop, tried to pay more attention to what was happening, but he couldn’t, not until he found what he was fairly certain was Grantaire’s wrist through the comforter and held it as best he could. 

When they stopped outside two doors, Enjolras found he could focus a little more. The female officer next to Bahorel was young and petite, and he wondered if she had visited them in the hospital, but it was hard to remember. It was a little frightening that he couldn’t, but there were so many things he didn’t want to think about, and maybe his mind couldn’t sort all his memories into the right category. “Shall we get Grantaire settled and then I can show the two of you next door?” Enjolras looked around and realized Jehan was no longer with them. He must have been too distracted to notice them being given a quiet place nearby to work. He needed to focus before something terrible happened while he was distracted.

The officer took them into the interrogation room, though it looked more like a small conference room than anything else. The chairs looked comfortable, and Enjolras helped Grantaire settle in to one on the side closer to the door, so that it would be easier for Enjolras to grab him if something happened. He noticed that in addition to a voice recorder and notepad, there was also a pitcher of water and box of tissues on the table. He didn’t like the idea of Grantaire needing them, but he supposed it was better than the police wanting to humiliate Grantaire by turning him into a sobbing mess with no way to clean himself up. He knew Bahorel and the officer probably wanted him to hurry up, but he took his time making sure Grantaire’s comforter was tucked in securely and that his hood covered all his hair. 

When he couldn’t delay any longer, he darted into the next room; nothing too awful could possibly happen in those few seconds, but Enjolras didn’t feel better until he could see Grantaire, unharmed, through the one-way mirror. He stood as close to the glass as he could without smudging it with his nose, but then had to back up slightly when his breath began to fog the glass. He wished desperately that Grantaire would let him sit with him and hold him during this ordeal, but he knew it had to be hard enough for Grantaire just to let Enjolras watch, let alone Bahorel. 

The officer and Bahorel had a quiet discussion, and then she left and re-appeared in the room with Grantaire. She gave him as much space as the room allowed as she went to sit at the other end of the table, but Enjolras didn’t take his eyes off her for a second. “Enjolras?” Bahorel asked, and Enjolras jumped in surprise. Was Bahorel going to hurt him now? He didn’t think he had been bad, just awkward, but maybe he was wrong. Before he could follow through on his resolution to ask him to wait, Bahorel asked, “Enjolras, do you want me to watch with you? Or do you want me to sit here and read my book unless you need me?”

In the next room, the officer was talking and urging Grantaire to drink a glass of water, and from her body language it didn’t appear she had started asking any questions yet. Enjolras didn’t know how to answer the question he had been asked. The whole point of having Bahorel here was that he could identify if something out of line was happening and then stop it, which would only work if he knew what was happening. But watching Grantaire enumerate all the ways he had been violated, even if they couldn’t hear what he said, was so intimate, and Enjolras didn’t want to allow it. “I’ll just read for now,” Bahorel decided, since Enjolras couldn’t. “Just tell me if you want me to do something different.” He dug a paperback out of his bag but looked up after flipping to his bookmark. “Enjolras, listen, I know you don’t any reason to believe me, but nothing bad is going to happen to Grantaire. But I promise if anyone lays a finger on him, I will break their face.”

The silence that followed was odd, broken only by Bahorel turning the pages of his book. Enjolras couldn’t see Grantaire’s mouth, but he could tell from a slight shifting when his partner was speaking. He tried not to lip-read the officer, since he might very well guess the answer if he knew the question and that was not what Grantaire wanted, but he couldn’t help picking out a few words, especially rape, which was repeated so much that it became easy to spot. It didn’t take long for Grantaire to need to the box of tissues, and while the officer looked sympathetic and gave Grantaire time to work through his tears, part of Enjolras hated her for making Grantaire so upset, even if she was just doing her job. Now that Grantaire’s hands were visible, he watched them carefully; he didn’t know what he would do if Grantaire tried to signal for him to come and he missed it.

“I don’t mean to sound like Cosette, but it might be good for your health to dial it down a notch or two,” Bahorel remarked, and only then did Enjolras realize he had the beginnings of another tension headache from clenching his jaw and that his knuckles had gone white, his fists were so tight. It was so hard to see Grantaire in so much pain, because of him, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. He was glad there was nothing around for him to break or to throw, because he wouldn’t have been able to resist, even though he knew doing those things was bad, and he had promised himself that he would be good. If he were bad, he might not be allowed to cuddle Grantaire that night, and that would be unacceptable.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and managed to relax for approximately thirty seconds. He wondered if banging on the glass would help; it probably wouldn’t break, but Grantaire would likely hear the noise and worry Bahorel really was punishing Enjolras.

“OK, this really will make me sound like Cosette, but would it help if you had an outlet for your anger?” Grantaire was thinking quietly about whatever question the officer had just asked, and Enjolras dared to glance over at Bahorel. He looked serious, not like he was trying to trick Enjolras or mock him. Enjolras turned back to the mirror. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like – OK, I know I’m not really around, and it’s not like Jehan is telling us every little thing that happens, but it seems like you have a lot of time to fill and not a lot to fill it with, other than worrying about Grantaire.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t be worried?” Enjolras twisted his head sharply. He remembered Grantaire and Bahorel had been close; how could Bahorel sit there while his supposed friend had to relive his horrific experience in vivid detail and dare to suggest Enjolras shouldn’t worry? Bahorel had never had to spend all day wondering what was happening to Grantaire, never had to listen to Grantaire sob after a particularly brutal rape, had never had his hands covered in Grantaire’s blood, had never to worry if Grantaire would get better when he was sick, had never been lock away and left to ponder if Grantaire would hurt himself in the meantime, he had never- 

“Enjolras, I think you have every right to be really fucking worried, but you’re sort of proving my point right now.” Enjolras realized he had started to both twist his hands together and gnaw on his lip without realizing it. “I know you don’t want to talk about your feelings and shit yet, but that shouldn’t mean you have to bottle everything up until you explode.”

“What are you suggesting?” Grantaire was still quiet, and Enjolras wondered what the officer had asked. For her part, she was sitting patiently, not pushing for a quick answer.

“Would you like to take up boxing? Well, you’d have to build up to being strong enough for it, but that could be the end goal.”

“Wasn’t that Grantaire’s thing?” Enjolras didn’t know if Grantaire would ever remember, but it felt wrong to encroach on his close friends and his favorite activities. Bahorel squinted at him.

“Enjolras, I don’t think Grantaire would mind, as long as it makes you happy.”

“Oh.” He shouldn’t have needed to be told that, but the depth of Grantaire’s love always amazed him, and he had never really had a reason to consider how that might extend to something like hobbies. Hobbies were something normal people had, and normal people did not exclusively wear pajamas out in public or live with their friends for free or require keepers or - 

“Enjolras, it’s fine. It was just a suggestion. Please don’t give yourself a heart attack. I’m not really thrilled by the idea of Éponine murdering me in my sleep.” 

“Why would she do that?” Enjolras turned to see Bahorel looking at him like he was stupid.

“Because Grantaire would be devastated and I would be the one responsible.” 

“Oh.” It was probably a joke, but Éponine had been the most vocally supportive of their relationship. He went back to watching Grantaire as he considered Bahorel’s suggestion. He did hate how helpless he felt and how there was no hope that he could reintegrate back into society if he was constantly on the verge of having a temper tantrum. He didn’t know how healthy it was, but the thought of punching something and pretending it was Master did sound…therapeutic. “Will Cosette allow it?”

“She’s just your friend, Enjolras. She can’t actually stop you from doing anything.”

“She keeps saying we should have therapy, though. This sounds like the opposite.” Enjolras wondered why he was opening up to Bahorel, even as he spoke. He had been so worried this morning about being hurt, but if he could deal with his anger in a way that wouldn’t terrify Grantaire, he would be more normal, and if he were more normal, he could find a way to get a job and they could get their own apartment and start to have a normal life. He appreciated everything Jehan and Éponine were doing, but he and Grantaire couldn’t live like that forever. 

“She thinks everyone needs therapy. Just like Joly thinks everyone needs to go the doctor and Jehan thinks everyone should have, like, fifty poems memorized just in case and Combeferre thinks everyone should have their own personal reference library.” 

“Oh.” Enjolras really needed to improve his repertoire of responses if he planned on starting law school in the fall. “Would I have to go to a gym?” He didn’t like the idea of people watching him or being around him or knowing he was there.

“Eventually. But for now I can give you some bodyweight exercises to do in the apartment, and you can do those and try to work up to longer walks, like you were doing in the hospital. And when you’re ready we can go really early or really late and have the place to ourselves.”

“Will – will you tell Jehan?” It was pathetic, but Enjolras couldn’t remember what it was like, not to ask, but to say he was actually doing something, not just to protest what he wouldn’t do.

“Sure thing.”

“Bahorel, do you – will I be ready for law school next year?” He blurted it out without thinking. Courfeyrac and Marius were the only others who could answer this question, and he didn’t want to ask the people he could potentially work for if they thought he was capable.

“Is anyone really ready for law school?” Bahorel asked philosophically. “Enjolras, I don’t doubt you’ll be ready to do whatever you want. But you’re allowed to change your mind if you want, whether it’s now or after you graduate. You already have an undergraduate degree – you’re certainly employable as things stand.”

“But I don’t want Grantaire to have to worry about money.”

Bahorel squinted at him again. “I…don’t think that will really be a problem, Enjolras. Law school sucks, but it especially sucks if you’re only there because you feel like you have to be. And no – Marius and Courf are not going to be upset if you want to do something else.”

Enjolras turned Bahorel’s words over in his mind. He had done his best to live frugally before he had been estranged from his parents and had saved quite a bit that way, plus he had received a healthy inheritance from both sets of grandparents, who hadn’t found his sexual orientation to be a problem. He hadn’t even thought about where that money might have gone, but Bahorel’s implication seemed to be it was still available. It would have gone to Combeferre, but maybe he hadn’t seen a point in bringing it up because Enjolras couldn’t function on his own, money or no money.

He was pulled from his reverie when Grantaire had finally started to speak again, raising his head a bit and looking a little more animated. Enjolras had meant to ask Jehan his next question, but he was never really alone with them. “Do you think Grantaire would be happy if he could work on his art again?” It seemed unfair that Bahorel was giving him something to help with his anxiety but that Grantaire wouldn’t get anything for his depression. 

“Have you asked him?”

“No. I didn’t know – I didn’t want him to think I was pressuring him. I didn’t know if it’s something that would make him feel better or if it should wait until he already felt better.”

Bahorel hummed like he understood Grantaire might take a suggestion from Enjolras as more than that. “He already has his tablet, but I can ask Feuilly to get a few things out of storage for him.”

“Do you think Grantaire will like that?” Enjolras suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. He should’ve just asked Éponine in the middle of the night. Bahorel must know Enjolras had never had a real relationship; what if decided Enjolras was too awkward and inexperienced for Grantaire? What if everyone else found out that, despite his determination to protect Grantaire, he really had no idea how to make him happy? He was sure some of them thought their relationship was dysfunctional at best – what if they tried to split them up? 

“Yeah, sure he will. Even if he doesn’t feel like doing anything creative, he’ll appreciate the gesture. He’ll appreciate that you’re the one who made the gesture.” Why did this feel so hard when everyone made it sound so easy? Enjolras was seized by an urgent desire to burst into the other room and hug Grantaire for a very, very long time, but now didn’t seem like the best time. Grantaire still had his head up even though he had stopped talking, and the officer was frantically writing notes like she might lose her train of thought if she stopped. She finally sfinished and got up, again giving Grantaire as much space as possible. 

Enjolras was a bit startled when she came into his room. “Enjolras, would you be willing to come answer a few questions?”

“Only if Grantaire can stay,” he said defensively. Grantaire knew what had happened to him, and he didn’t want Grantaire to worry what the police might say to him; he doubted the police cared whether they were together or not, but it was such a sensitive topic for Grantaire. If he worried about what their friends might do, Grantaire worried about everyone.

“Yes, he told me that.” Enjolras was glad he would have a chance to hold Grantaire now after all. 

“Maybe we should take a break first?” Bahorel suggested.

“Of course,” agreed the officer. “Enjolras, why don’t you go in and I’ll be back in a little bit?”

Enjolras went as fast as he could. Grantaire didn’t look surprised to see him, but he did let out a little noise when Enjolras hugged him tightly. “You’re so brave, Grantaire,” he whispered. “I’m so proud of you. Are you alright?”

“I won’t be if you keep crushing me.” Enjolras relaxed his grip, relieved that, while Grantaire still sounded a little teary, his voice was strong.

“Sorry.” He gave Grantaire a gentler squeeze. “What does she need to ask me?”

“She didn’t already say?” Grantaire was genuinely surprised. “I thought that’s why you were all, you know…” he trailed off.

“No? I just hated seeing you so upset.” He kissed the top of Grantaire’s head. He was suddenly very aware Bahorel might be watching them, but maybe that was a good thing. “What is she going to ask? Does it – does it have something to do with you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, not really. It was just something I said.”

“Grantaire-” Enjolras tried to interrupt. Grantaire was so dismissive, but everything he said had been difficult. 

“I think it’s about Master going to prison for longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out information on interrogation rooms is very scant. (Most articles are about knowing your rights, which, while good, isn't exactly what I needed.) Probably more than half of what I found was based on what people had seen on reality TV shows. I did find multiple references to "nice" interrogation rooms. It's probably a creative liberty to have the sound be something you can casually turn off, but what can you do?


	45. Chapter Forty-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 200K words. What am I doing with my life. I don't even know. I appreciate everyone who's still reading this monstrosity!

It was a testament to just how fucking strange Grantaire’s new life was that one of the top adjectives he’d use to describe it was ironic. He wouldn’t have called his insomnia fun per se, but it had been steadfast in its presence. Even if he had been allowed quiet time to rest more often, he wouldn’t have slept that much more. But since his body was determined to betray him no matter where he was or who had him, now that he needed to be awake more often, he was so sleepy all of the time. (OK, part of it probably was that his body had adapted to the regular intervals at which he was allowed to curl up in safety with Enjolras and was using them to catch up on his truly astronomical sleep debt, but still. When he had had the time to doze, he was usually awake. Now that he needed to be awake, he was on the verge of falling asleep.) (Maybe it was just a learned response triggered by the fact that Enjolras was still holding him very close and petting him and acting like everything was normal.)

Grantaire was still baffled by just how much Enjolras was doting on him. He had assumed when Enjolras burst in to the room and immediately tried to see whether he could break Grantaire’s ribs or make him pass out from lack of oxygen first, that when the officer had left she had explained exactly what was going on. (Because wasn’t that another great irony – he had finally talked about what had happened to him and it wasn’t even the really useful part. Grantaire: 1, Enjolras 0. Except Grantaire was so far behind that one measly point wasn’t really putting him any closer to Enjolras.) But leaning against Enjolras as a massive loser was still so comfortable. He hadn’t realized just how draining the morning had been until he was in Enjolras’s arms and burrowed into his chest. 

There was a whole host of reasons he shouldn’t fall asleep: he was given a specific task to accomplish (and unless he suddenly started talking in his sleep, the two were incompatible); if he didn’t do as he was told, Enjolras would be hurt; Master Bahorel was watching them and could carry out that punishment swiftly if he saw fit; and taking a nap in public wasn’t really the done thing. But Enjolras was cuddling him. Enjolras had watched him cry a record-setting number of tears for several hours, knowing they were caused by Grantaire having to detail every way he was naughty and disgusting, but he was warm and solid and holding him anyway. Grantaire wanted to pretend this was all a particularly bad nightmare, that none of this had ever happened, that he would wake up on the floor of the room and Enjolras wouldn’t be primed to think about how filthy his so-called partner was, but Grantaire knew to be grateful for what he had at that moment and not wish for more. He hurt himself in a lot of ways, both literally and figuratively because why not double down while he was at it, but even he knew better in this case.

Enjolras exposed just a few of his curls and started to play with them. Forget falling asleep – Grantaire was going to skip ahead and just die. “Are you feeling alright?” 

He had a raging headache from the crying, and the trying not to cry, and he felt like his insides had liquified with shame and he might vomit them out any second, and he had that bone-deep fatigue of hard labor. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Grantaire,” but Enjolras’s voice stayed soft, and he didn’t make Grantaire look at him. “You don’t have to be fine. You were so strong and brave.” Enjolras paused. “I won’t let anyone back in until you’re ready.” 

“I’m not brave,” he grumbled. He had only broken and told all of what had happened under dual pressure from the police and their keepers, with Enjolras’s safety in the balance. He was no expert on what constituted bravery, but he knew that didn’t qualify.

“Hush. You were brave.” Grantaire didn’t feel like arguing with Enjolras when he could cuddle with him instead. That was also pretty far off from being brave. He didn’t know why Enjolras kept insisting he was. Then his stomach dropped.

“You didn’t hear, did you?” He could barely hear his own words, they were so quiet. He wished the floor would swallow him up or he would just disappear or God would decide to finally get around to proving his existence by smiting him. His survival had been a test of endurance (often difficult) and his love for Enjolras (unsurprisingly easy), rather than a test of courage, but pure, virginal Enjolras didn’t seem to understand that. Master hadn’t even been particularly creative, unless he felt like Enjolras (or, very occasionally, Grantaire) needed to learn a special lesson. And while it hadn’t even just been about the power and control, since Master had often enjoyed using Grantaire for its own sake once he had been trained up properly, the specifics might horrify inexperienced Enjorlas so much he mistook Grantaire’s steadfastness for bravery. 

“No, I didn’t. I promised I wouldn’t,” Enjolras replied, full of confusion. Grantaire didn’t really think Enjolras would’ve lied, but he couldn’t think of any other possible explanation. “Grantaire, I won’t say anything else about it if you don’t want me to, but I know you didn’t want to do this at all, but you did. You are brave.” Grantaire couldn’t help but squirm. Enjolras’s words made him feel warm, but it was too warm, like he was burning up from the inside out. “Here, what would help you feel better?” 

Enjolras holding him approximately forever and then never bringing this up again for that same period of time would make him feel better. “Can I have some water?” Enjolras would be happiest if he had a concrete task to do because it gave him a defined goal. Grantaire would be happiest because it would give Enjolras something to do besides talk. 

“Of course.” Grantaire was honestly impressed at Enjolras’s ability to carry out the task one-handed, and not just because the other stayed at his waist. (Just mostly.) He thought the water would help, but his headache felt even worse after he drank. 

There was a light knocking at the door, and Grantaire looked up in terror at the mirror, remembering their little snuggle session was on full display. Master usually allowed the comfort from one to the other if the brutalization had been severe enough, and Grantaire hoped as hard as he could that this qualified, even if no one had laid a finger on him. He really would shatter if Enjolras was punished for holding him. But it was only Jehan, holding the bag of food they had packed. “R, sweetheart, would you feel up to eating something?” He didn’t really, but now he was more tired than actively nauseous, and he was worried what would happen if he refused two meals in a row. “Here, Enjolras, why don’t you take this and pick something out? I tried to pack a variety of things.” Enjolras contorted himself around to take the bag without getting up or letting go of Grantaire. “The granola bars might have gotten a little broken, so watch out if you open them, in case the crumbs spray everywhere.”

Grantaire was impressed Enjolras didn’t drop the bag. Then he held his breath because he wasn’t convinced Enjolras hadn’t retained his grip on it just to throw it back at Jehan. He felt so very tired and so very raw. He just wanted to get this over with and go home and go back to playing Pretend Normalcy with Enjolras. He didn’t want to be touched or used or dragged away somewhere else. Grantaire reached out and touched his arm. Enjolras exhaled a shuddery breath and then the tension bled out of him. “Thank you, Jehan,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at them. 

“Of course. Take as much time as you need,” they reassured them, like they were all perfectly normal human beings have a perfectly normal human interaction. 

“Sorry,” Enjolras apologized as soon as Jehan closed the door. He clearly wanted to look at Grantaire, but Grantaire studiously avoided his gaze. “Sorry,” he repeated, voice tight. “This is supposed to be about you, when they said that, it just made me – made me-”

“Enjolras, it’s fine. I don’t want to be an attention whore or anything.” Grantaire could feel Enjolras’s eyes burning into him and wondered if his poor word choice had been conscious or reflexive, but instead of trying to figure out an answer, he pulled out an apple and began to eat it as loudly and messily as he could. Avoiding conversation with Enjolras was much easier now that he had so many other ways to do so. To Enjolras’s credit, he dropped the subject and began to eat as well. The officer must have been watching them, because shortly after they finished, she came back in.

As painful as the whole experience had been, Grantaire didn’t mind her. Yes, she made him talk about a lot of shit he would rather not talk about it, but he knew it would happen with some officer, and she wasn’t a bad one to draw. Grantaire had no idea how her job worked, but she seemed to have a pretty good idea of what had happened (he could only assume she had a report from the hospital but he didn’t want to dwell on it because then he’d have to think about being thoroughly examined while unconscious) and asked specific questions, and asked yet more specific follow-up questions. He didn’t know what the point was when Enjolras wanted him to talk about what happened or when Mistress Fauchelevent popped up again and again to push therapy, but this officer had a goal and knew what she needed from Grantaire to get it. She was patient when he cried but, unlike people whose names started with E- and ended with -njolras, she didn’t try to fix anything, probably because she would never get approved for the amount of overtime needed to fix Grantaire, and it was outside her job description anyway. It still had been awful, and he was still exhausted, but there was a relief, now that it was over and Enjolras hadn’t heard.

“Hello, Enjolras,” she said pleasantly. 

“I’m not saying anything without Grantaire here,” Enjolras snapped, letting out the frustration and anger that had no doubt been stewing all day. It made Grantaire worry if they would be punished, but as long as he was the only one affected, it would be worth it for the way Enjolras was once again holding him so tightly it hurt. 

“Of course, Enjolras,” the officer agreed without rancor. Had the rules of social etiquette changed over the last few years, or had everyone agreed to just pretend that he and Enjolras were normal? “Grantaire was just telling me,” and here Grantaire almost spontaneously threw up everything he had eaten, thinking of all the things she might say, “that while you witnessed Montparnasse committing his financial crimes, it wasn’t directly related to what happened to you.”

Enjolras considered this carefully, just like he considered everything carefully, though the tight gripping of Grantaire while he did so was still a recent phenomenon. “No, I don’t think so. I never even knew what he did really.” 

“Excellent.” This was another reason Grantaire could tolerate this woman. Everyone else praised the two of them for not killing themselves out of neglect, but she was pleased with something they actually did. “This part isn’t really my job, but we should be able to make a strong case that the sentencing for your abuse and the financial crimes should be separate.”

“What does that mean?” Grantaire had to wonder if Enjolras would have been this skeptical of the police if they had actually rescued them, but it was too nice to have Enjolras take the lead on this to make it worth mentioning. 

“Let me ask one more question first so I can give you a better answer.” Enjolras shifted but didn’t protest. This was probably good – Grantaire wanted to nap once they were released, not spend hours convincing Enjolras that this officer doing her job was some evil monster out to destroy his self-worth. (She would’ve been too late for that anyway, if that had been her goal.) “I know it can feel odd to discuss finances with a virtual stranger, but Grantaire also tells me you were quite well off? And that many of your close friends were, and are, as well?”

She had named names to Grantaire, since there was no one he felt like he could describe as his close friend (since for some reason he could call Enjolras his partner and, if that hadn’t been the case, he never would’ve dared to say they were close, let alone friends), but the semantics seemed less important to Enjolras, who had gone from staring at Grantaire to staring at the table. Grantaire knew he could get weird about money (and not in the way Grantaire would’ve been weird about it, by which he meant he would’ve been weirdly sad after weirdly spending it all), but he couldn’t just ignore a direct question. “That’s true,” Enjolras eventually conceded, like he was worried when this woman clocked out there would be a one-person run on the Enjolras & Co Bank. Or like it was some terrible, dirty secret (like he had forgotten that was the one domain Grantaire had on lockdown.) 

“Alright. We’re investigating whether Montparnasse’s end goal was to seek a ransom payment when he was ready to flee the country. That would make the kidnapping charges more severe. That would bump up the kidnapping sentence to 25 years, 20 years for wire fraud, and, if the investigation goes well, another 15 for money laundering.”

“What about – about everything else?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire could tell he was teetering on the edge. He tried grounding Enjolras with his touch again, but it appeared to have no effect. Maybe it hadn’t even had an effect the first time. 

“Enjolras, we’re going to press all possible charges, but if ‘everything else,’ as you put it, gets lumped together concurrently, kidnapping has the longest sentence. You would be in your 80’s by the time he’s released. It’s very possible he could die of natural causes in prison before then. He wouldn’t have any more meaningful life as a free person, even if he does get out.”

Grantaire braced himself. “So what was the point of you humiliating Grantaire like this if it’s not going to make a difference?” Enjolras was icy calm, no doubt the tip of a very large Anger Iceberg, but it did give Grantaire time to reflect that this seemed more…practical than Enjolras tended to be. Grantaire had expected him to want to push for every single possible charge on principle, whether it changed the final outcome or not. 

“Enjolras, we still want to press and convict on as many charges as we can prove. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean the outcome in court will be exactly what we’d like.”

“Enjolras,” whispered Grantaire, daring himself to take his hand and squeeze harder than normal. He still couldn’t fathom why everyone was being so patient with Enjolras, but he doubted it would extend to past the boundaries of the apartment (and the relative privacy of their hospital room) to cover an angry outburst with the police. If he knew he would take the punishment, Grantaire wouldn’t stop Enjolras and would let him get it out of his system, but he didn’t know, and he didn’t want to live with the guilt of knowing Enjolras was being hurt when he could’ve tried to stop it. That trying was just enough, though Enjolras seemed like he was clinging to (relative) calm by a thread. He looked at Grantaire for a long time and then brushed his knuckles with his thumb, like he was hanging on by several threads now.

“Can we leave, then?”

“You’re always free to leave. We can arrange a time to speak with you in the next couple days if you want to go home now.”

“And then we’ll be done?” Grantaire wished Enjolras would just get up and lead him from the room. Jehan was a very gentle keeper, but even they would probably insist that the two of them had to talk to the police, if that’s what the police wanted. Considering they let them laze around all day, every day, that was hardly an unreasonable request. (Thought Grantaire didn’t like he had started to classify things as reasonable and unreasonable again. Whatever happened, happened, regardless of his opinion on the matter. It was best to have no opinion at all, if he could help it.)

“For now. You’ll-”

“What do you mean, for now?” Grantaire’s rather frantic hand-squeezing was ignored this time.

The officer was unfazed. Grantaire wondered how many difficult people she had dealt with that Enjolras didn’t bother her. “Once your case is ready to proceed to trial, the prosecution will want to meet with you to help prepare you for examination and cross-examination.”

Grantaire dared to glance at Enjolras when he didn’t immediately respond. His mouth was pressed into a thin line but then he deflated. “Alright.” Grantaire was honestly relieved. As the one without legal training beyond some fuzzy memories of crime TV, he thought being told what to expect and what to do in court was a good idea. He couldn’t even imagine what would happen if he messed up the prosecution by doing or saying something wrong. He probably (certainly) would do that anyway, but maybe they could mitigate his damage-dealing capabilities beforehand. (And if he were being totally honest with himself, he didn’t want to let Enjolras down, either. Even if the charges didn’t matter in the real world, they did in Enjolras’s mind.) The officer took a few more notes before leaving, and Jehan came shortly after that to collect them.

Enjolras studiously tucked Grantaire’s comforter back around him and fixed his hood, but it was obvious his mind was far away. Grantaire couldn’t pretend he didn’t like the steady arm around his shoulders or being squashed in the taxi, but he was worried, and that made it hard to enjoy those things. But Jehan and Master Bahorel looked more sad than angry, and the motion and the warmth of the car were making him very sleepy again, and he let himself doze. At least he hadn’t lost his talent for cat-napping. Maybe since Enjolras was in an introspective mood (aka he was going to brood like it was an Olympic event) and no one was angry, he might be willing to take Grantaire to bed and just hold him while he slept. He had expected Enjolras to want an hours-long debriefing session about what had happened, but a quiet nap sounded much better. He knew he should deny himself, but even after hearing everything that happened, the police officer hadn’t run screaming from the room to tell Enjolras to stay away. Grantaire knew he was tainted, but at least it wouldn’t rub off on Enjolras. 

He thought he would wake up when they got back to the apartment, but he stayed in a dreamy daze, letting Enjolras help him up the stairs and peel off his many winter layers. He could hear Enjolras and Jehan speaking, but they both sounded far away and muted. He felt like he should put up a token resistance as Enjolras locked them in, but his body, and his desire to claim he wasn’t tired, were quickly buried under a mound of blankets. He floated in a haze, wondering why he hadn’t fallen all the way asleep, but happy with what he had in its place. A hand drifted into his hair again, and he opened his eyes, drowsy enough to think he could manage to convey to Enjolras how much this meant to him without coming off like a total fool, but when he opened his eyes, he found he was curled up not against Enjolras, but against Master. The soothing hand in his hair now made him sick.

“Grantaire, I heard you were very naughty today.” This wasn’t right. Master was in prison. Enjolras had locked the door, and Jehan was out in the family room. But Grantaire couldn’t deny what he was seeing. He needed to apologize, he needed to look for Enjolras, but he was mute and frozen with terror. “I’m hurt you’re trying to keep me away. It almost makes me think you don’t like this.” Master’s hand tightened his hair and Grantaire realized with shame he was naked and uncovered, and he knew what he was supposed to say, he was supposed to say he liked it and he was sorry and offer to prove both those things, but he still couldn’t speak. “Shall I go get Enjolras?” Master suggested, and Grantaire needed to say no, needed to beg. “I’m not hearing a no.” No no no no no, Grantaire screamed in his head. He wanted Master’s hand out of his hair. He wanted to be sent to the crawlspace and allowed to hold Enjolras’s hand and think how lucky he was to have that. “I was going to say he could watch, but I think trying to send me away deserves worse, doesn’t it? I have to make sure you learn your lesson. I think he should take a more active role tonight, hmm?” Grantaire wanted to flee, even though there was nowhere to go and it would only make things infinitely worse, but he couldn’t imagine anything worse than Enjolras being raped, even if it were by proxy, but when he could finally move, Master grabbed his shoulders and started to shake him, repeating Grantaire’s name over and over. That wasn’t right. He almost never addressed Grantaire by his name. Why was he doing that now?

Waking up was like coming up for air. He was fully-dressed, and it was Enjolras who was touching him and shaking him. He was humiliated to find himself soaked in a cold sweat and hyperventilating. He flailed against all the blankets choking him and somehow stumbled into the closet and focused on not being sick. How could he have thought it was fine to talk about what happened to him and to think he wasn’t the absolute worst and to let Enjolras touch him and love him when he was so utterly filthy. Master was right – touching Grantaire was the worst punishment of all.

He barely made it to the bathroom before he was actually sick, feeling even worse when he staggered into Enjolras on his way to the door. He was even sweatier and grosser when he was done. He could hear Enjolras and Jehan talking softly in the background again, but this time he knew it was about how disgusting he was. He wouldn’t be terribly surprised if they forced him to sleep separately from Enjolras, now that they must know Grantaire for what he really was. He was a slut. He had been used so many times and in so many ways, and he still wanted Enjolras to love him, not just emotionally but also physically, even though they were going to have to be tested for disease because of him and that if he convinced Enjolras to sleep with him, he was so scarred that he would probably tear and bleed and - 

Enjolras had conjured a cool, damp towel from somewhere and was gently wiping his face clean with it. “I’m sorry, Grantaire,” he apologized while he followed his work with a new, dry towel. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

“Enjolras, it’s hardly your fault I had a nightmare.” Of course Enjolras would blame himself for not being able to magically control Grantaire’s subconscious. 

“Maybe. But you had such a hard day. I should’ve taken better care of you. I’m sorry.” He set the towel aside. “Can I hold you, Grantaire?”

“He was going to make us have sex,” Grantaire blurted out. He knew Enjolras would ask what he had dreamt about and wouldn’t rest until he got some sort of answer, and he couldn’t bear the thought of revealing it when Enjolras was cuddling him.

“Oh, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, truly sad, and he took one of Grantaire’s hands to stroke softly. “But he didn’t. I’m glad he didn’t, Grantaire, because I never want to see you hurt at all, let alone like that, but it wouldn’t have changed how I felt about you. I promise.”

“But I want to have sex with you, even though it’s a punishment.” He was surprised Enjolras did not release his hand. 

“Grantaire, having consensual sex with you would not be a punishment. I want to be with you like that, when we’re both ready.” Grantaire guessed crying in someone else’s bathroom wearing three layers of pajamas didn’t qualify as “ready” in Enjolras’s mind.

“I don’t even want to be naked,” he hiccupped, no doubt adding fuel to the Not Ready Fire. When he willed himself to try to find a way to get over this stupid roadblock, when he thought sex was something he was good for, one of the most suggested tips was to first get used to being naked. He didn’t want to. Showers felt nice enough (and non-sexual enough when he was alone) to get over it then, but being naked otherwise sounded like the least arousing thing possible. Which was incredibly stupid because Enjolras knew exactly what Grantaire looked like naked, but Grantaire thought he might die if he had to strip in front of him. 

“Then you don’t have to be naked,” said Enjolras, like that was some sort of totally reasonable reply.

“Enjolras, I’m sorry you had to use the one sick day of your K-12 career on the day of The Talk, but you’re generally naked when you have sex.” Enjolras actually laughed a little, but it didn’t sound mean.

“Grantaire. I might not have paid much attention in Sex Ed because it wasn’t exactly relevant to me, but even I know there’s lots of different ways to have sex. We can find a way we both like that lets us keep our clothes on.” 

“This is stupid,” Grantaire observed, because it was. “You’re pretty much the polar opposite of a horny teenager, and I think horny teenagers are the only ones who can’t manage to get their clothes off in time. I’m not going to fuck up your first experience like that.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras was going to wear his name out at this rate. “I don’t care what my ‘first time’ is like, as long as we both enjoy it.” He brushed Grantaire’s hair away to kiss his forehead. “Your hair is getting longer. Should I ask Éponine to cut it again? Is it too triggering like this?” 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t have to be fine, Grantaire. I can ask Éponine when she gets home from work.” Grantaire was struggling with how to say thank you while still pretending he didn’t need anything when there was a knock on the apartment door. He froze. He knew it wasn’t Master, Master was locked up and couldn’t get him, he couldn’t come carry out what he threatened in Grantaire’s dream, but Grantaire couldn’t shake the dread. “I think that’s Feuilly. If I lock you into our room, will you be alright for a few minutes?”

Grantaire didn’t want to be left alone, not when he was still in this weird headspace from the nightmare, but he was already being so difficult. “Sure.” Enjolras did look a little skeptical but he didn’t argue as he took Grantaire back and locked him in. He wondered why Master Feuilly had come and why Enjolras knew he needed to see him. He tried to keep himself from imagining awful but preposterous scenarios (Enjolras was calm, so he wasn’t going out to get beaten) but it was hard to stop when Grantaire couldn’t make a real guess. But true to his word, Enjolras returned after only a few minutes, holding a cardboard box, none the worse for wear. He shuffled his feet.

“Um, I asked – I asked for some of your art stuff. Feuilly said he tried to pick out a range of things. He said some of your supplies expired, but Jehan said they’ll replace any of it, or buy anything new you want.” Grantaire took the box when Enjolras tentatively handed it to him. There were two sketchbooks inside, one half-used, one blank, along with a variety of pencils and some paints and brushes. Enjolras had sat down but was (very gently and slowly) twisting his fingers together. 

“You asked for this? For me?” He was too overwhelmed to feel any one emotion in particular. He almost wanted to ask Enjolras if he could kiss him, but he was way too gross, and not just because he had only just thrown up.

“Yes. Sorry, I didn’t know exactly what you’d want though. And you don’t have to use any of it, if you don’t want to. And it’s not about pressuring you to make money or think about making money. I just wanted to make you happy.” Grantaire looked up from his further examination to see Enjolras had turned bright red. Grantaire didn’t know why his hands were shaking. 

“Thank you, Enjolras.” He sounded closer to crying than he strictly liked. “Do you mind if I – I just still have that nightmare feeling. You know.” He jerked his head toward the closet as he pulled out one of his sketchbooks and a handful of pencils. 

“Of course. I’ll be right here if you need me.”


	46. Chapter Forty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write some real, honest-to-God fluff? 
> 
> (Well, I tried, at least.)

Enjolras sat up on their pallet, leaning back so his head rested on the bed. He could hear the sound of Grantaire sketching in the closet, punctuated by the occasional rustle of paper. He still felt horrible that he hadn’t prevented Grantaire’s nightmare, as irrational as that was; Grantaire had been just about asleep on his feet as soon as they got into the taxi, and Enjolras thought it would be for the best to curl up with him and sleep as quickly as possible. 

But of course it had been a bad idea for Grantaire to talk about everything he had gone through and then…not talk about it. Enjolras had no idea how he would have facilitated the talking about the talking about, especially with an exhausted Grantaire, but he should’ve tried. At least Grantaire did seem genuinely happy to get some of his art supplies back and was working away. Enjolras wasn’t sure if Grantaire was keeping him away because he wanted privacy to work or because of the lingering effects of the nightmare. He looked down and realized he had been twisting his fingers again without even realizing, but when he tried to stop, he found he could no longer think properly.

He had to wonder if Grantaire’s nightmare was a product of his imagination or his memory, or a combination of the two. Had Master ever threatened Grantaire with sex with Enjolras as a punishment? If he had, had it been a specific threat or just a general warning? Had Master only intimated something of the kind might happen and left Grantaire to torture himself with his own thoughts? Or had the shame of being forced to masturbate to thoughts of Enjolras been altered by Grantaire’s subconscious into actually having nonconsensual sex with him? 

Enjolras had no idea how to ask, and he told himself he would’ve been content to leave it alone, but if Grantaire continued to want, or think he should want, to willingly have sex with Enjolras in the near future, this seemed like something that shouldn’t be ignored. Grantaire already associated so much shame with his sexual desires for his partner, and not knowing just how deep that shame went seemed like a recipe for disaster. But asking Grantaire, directly or obliquely, where the fuel for this particular nightmare had come from, also seemed like a recipe for disaster. He turned the question over and over in his mind and found no answer, but it was comforting to hear Grantaire in the background and know he was safe.

When it started to grow dark outside, Enjolras heard an extended bout of rustling from the closet, and he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He tapped on the door. “Grantaire? Is it alright if I come in?” 

There was a particular hasty burst of rustling, but Grantaire sounded quite happy when he said, “Sure.” Enjolras slid in next to him. Grantaire was sitting cross-legged, sketchbook in his lap, though the cover was closed. Enjolras was intensely curious, but he restrained himself. Grantaire was slightly flushed, and slightly smiling. 

“Do you feel better?” Enjolras asked, just in case Grantaire’s appearance was an act. 

“I – I do.” Grantaire sounded a little surprised to discover that was the case. He rubbed the cover of his sketchbook with his fingertips and frowned a little. “It was so strange, being told that painting was mine. It still feels strange to be drawing and have it actually look like what’s in my head, but it makes more sense now why everyone thinks this is something I can do.”

“I’m glad,” said Enjolras, and he reached out to cover Grantaire’s hands with one of his own. He didn’t miss the way Grantaire tensed up slightly at the touch. “I’m really interested in what you do, Grantaire, but I’m not going to look, not unless you want me to. I’m just happy to see you happy.”

Grantaire blushed, and Enjolras had to wonder if he had been Grantaire’s latest subject, though he also wondered if that thought just revealed his own vanity. “Thank you,” Grantaire whispered, suddenly shy, and when he looked up Enjolras could tell the thanks weren’t for just the art supplies or the privacy or the touch. Grantaire looked more open and happy than Enjolras could ever remember, and he suddenly wanted to kiss Grantaire very badly. He had no idea how to ask, let alone how to actually kiss, so he slowly leaned forward and brushed their noses together. Grantaire let out what could only be described as a giggle and turned bright red. Then he looked up, still shyly, but now also expectantly at Enjolras.

Enjolras’s mouth suddenly went dry. He had no idea what he was doing. He pressed one hand against Grantaire’s and the other against his own thigh firmly, because he shouldn’t need to self-soothe over the question of whether he would be a satisfactory kissing partner. Grantaire was still looking at him, though worry was slowly eating away at his happiness, so he forced himself to ignore the nervousness. “Grantaire, can I kiss you?”

“If you’d like to.” Grantaire’s voice was barely audible. 

“I do. That’s why I’m asking.”

Grantaire hesitated, and Enjolras thought he might be re-considering, but then his partner leaned forward and kissed him gently. It was neither long nor short, but since time seemed to have abruptly slowed, Enjolras had time to appreciate how Grantaire had known just how much to tilt his head so their noses wouldn’t touch this time. He also had ample time to consider how intimate and tender and trusting the act was. Grantaire pulled away after what felt like just the right amount of time, flushed and breathless. Enjolras also felt flushed and breathless and instead of managing to say something that properly conveyed his feelings to Grantaire, he laughed, so brightly and freely and loudly that it sounded bizarre in his ears. 

Grantaire looked a little stunned. Enjolras tried to stifle his laughter, both so Jehan wouldn’t hear and so he could talk, but he found he couldn’t stop giggling. He knew it must just be an endorphin rush, but for some reason that just made him laugh more. When he started shaking with semi-repressed laughter, Grantaire started to giggle too, and it quickly became apparent he couldn’t stop either. They both managed to stop, eventually, and Enjolras had to wipe away a few tears that had collected in his eyes.

He leaned forward to brush their noses together again, and Grantaire kissed him again. They both laughed again, though they managed to get themselves back under control more quickly. Enjolras felt lightheaded, but from giddiness and happiness, instead of terror or pain. It was unbelievably nice. He rubbed Grantaire’s knuckles gently with his thumb, and they smiled at each other. Enjolras carefully moved Grantaire’s sketchbook to the side and pulled his partner’s legs into his lap, and he started to stroke his shins. He stopped when he noticed Grantaire had dozed off and let himself drift a little too, tired now that the endorphins had faded, but very content. His last thought for awhile was how this wasn’t the most comfortable position they had ever slept in, by any objective measure, but he had never felt so satisfied.

When he came to, he found Grantaire looking at him drowsily. “I’d like to file a formal complaint that my leg rub stopped.”

Enjolras laughed, though he was able to do it more quietly this time. He gave Grantaire a brief kiss and resumed his task as requested. Grantaire hummed and closed his eyes. Enjolras thought he might be going to back to sleep, until he asked, “Do you like kissing?” There was no expectation or judgment in his tone, and Enjolras knew Grantaire wasn’t asking about what they had already done.

“I – I don’t know. I know you’re supposed to progress to using tongues, but that sounds a little – a little-” Grantaire wriggled his legs in Enjolras’s lap, and he realized he had once again stopped rubbing them, though this time it wasn’t to sleep. “Did you ask me to rub your legs again so I wouldn’t, you know….”

“No, I don’t know,” said Grantaire pleasantly, though his small smile betrayed the fact that he, in fact, did know. “Enjolras, we don’t have to make out like sloppy teenagers if you don’t want to.”

“But-” 

“No buts. Enjolras, I’m happy just to – just doing whatever makes you feel comfortable.” Even Enjolras was smart enough not to push Grantaire about what he had really meant to say. They sat quietly for a minute. “What did you do all afternoon?” Grantaire asked curiously.

“I don’t know. I just thought. I might have slept a little, I’m not sure.”

“Were you bored?” It was a strange concept. Enjolras had grown accustomed to using whatever spare time he had to enjoy, well, to enjoy having spare time. In the hospital, he had been content to doze or just think about how Grantaire was safe. Grantaire’s implication that he might want to use that time to actually do something was strange. “Do you want me to ask for some of your books?”

“Are you starting to remember?” Enjolras asked, surprise getting the better of him. “How do you know I had books?”

Grantaire snorted. “No, I don’t think I am. But we have an empty bookcase that I have a feeling is way too nice to have been mine. And I somehow doubt you just kept an empty bookcase lying around.”

“Oh.” Enjolras did know it was his bookcase, but he hadn’t taken that memory a step further to wonder what had happened to its contents, or to the step after that, to consider asking for those books back. Reading for pleasure…it sounded strange. Strange, but nice. Maybe he could sit with Grantaire and read while he sketched. That sounded very nice. “I can ask. You don’t have to.”

“Please,” said Grantaire, and he looked away when his voice cracked. “I’m worried they’ll send – they’ll send – they might think I need to talk about today. Please let me prove to them I’m fine.” Enjolras noticed Grantaire avoided saying the name of anyone they had previously been taught to address with honorifics. Maybe Grantaire was still too frightened to drop the habit but was embarrassed since Enjolras had forced himself over that particular hurdle. In this case, he didn’t think Cosette would be wrong in suggesting Grantaire talk about the morning, not after the nightmare, but he knew there was more to what Grantaire was saying than that, and he once again refrained from pushing. 

“Alright, if that’s really what you would like.” He squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “But I promise I won’t let anyone touch you.”

There was a knock on the door before Grantaire could reply. He pulled his legs away so Enjolras could get up. It was Jehan, and though they were smiling just like normal, it seemed happier than usual. They must have been glad to hear their charges laughing. Enjolras knew it made sense, knew that Jehan was their friend, but that was hard to remember that while half his brain was trying to decide what Master would have done if he had caught the two of them laughing together, of all things. “Hello, Enjolras. Éponine will be home soon. Would the two of you want to have some dinner?” 

Enjolras looked around and realized it had gotten very dark outside, though some light pollution was still leaking in through the uncovered window. He hadn’t even noticed. “Alright. But only if Grantaire wants to.”

“That’s fine. Why don’t you come out when you’re ready?” Enjolras had expected Jehan to push for confirmation, but maybe they knew he and Grantaire were in a good enough mood that they didn’t need to be coerced, for once. And they didn’t – Grantaire had heard and crawled out of the closet on his own once Jehan disappeared and let Enjolras fuss with his comforter. He had that same shining, expectant look in his eyes, and Enjolras leaned down to briefly kiss him again. Grantaire giggled, though they both jumped when there was a clatter in the kitchen. 

Enjolras didn’t think anyone was there but Jehan and Éponine, because Jehan had to know tricking them like that would be a bad idea, but he made sure to keep an arm securely around Grantaire’s shoulders as he led them out. Jehan was cutting a chicken breast into pieces, smiling a little more than before. Éponine was filling a dirty pot at the sink to soak, her head tilted away, though she turned enough when she shut the water off that Enjolras could see her trying very hard, but failing, to suppress a broad grin. She busied herself with her back to them until she was smiling a little more normally. 

Éponine spent dinner telling Jehan about her day and the…variety of customers she had seen. Enjolras would have thought more about how their meals up until now had almost all been silent, awkward affairs, but he was too occupied positioning his foot just so, so that it was touching Grantaire’s. When he succeeded, Grantaire gently knocked their knees together. Enjolras had to focus very hard on his chicken to keep from laughing again, though Grantaire shoveling a heaping spoonful of mac and cheese into his mouth to accomplish the same thing almost ruined his efforts.

They managed to be still after that, and Enjolras waited until there was a lull in the conversation. “Éponine, will you trim Grantaire’s hair tonight?” he asked. 

She looked surprised, whether at Enjolras managing to ask a question like a normal person or the actual request itself, he couldn’t tell, since she looked between him and Grantaire’s covered head. Then she shrugged. “Sure. Bathroom OK? It gets a little messy.” Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who nodded. 

“I’ll do the dishes,” offered Jehan. “You go ahead.” 

Éponine went into her room and returned with a bag of supplies. Enjolras and Grantaire followed and watched as she surveyed the bathroom. “Could one of you get your desk chair? It’ll help if I can adjust the height.” Grantaire gently shrugged off Enjolras’s arm, and he hurried to their room. He was very careful not to drop the chair as he lowered it off the desk; he didn’t want to have to answer any questions. 

He was relieved when he returned to find Grantaire unharmed. “Enjolras, could you maybe roll Grantaire’s hood under the comforter? I’m going to need it out of the way.” Enjolras had only loosened the knot under Grantaire’s chin when Éponine asked, looking meaningfully at Grantaire’s head, “Oh, do you want the door shut?” Enjolras froze. It was stupid, it was so stupid, Éponine was only asking to close the door, not lock it from the outside, and any of them could open it and walk right out if they wanted to.

Grantaire squeezed his hand as best he could, since it was still contorted around the strings of the hood. “Open is fine,” he said softly, looking at the floor. Enjolras wanted to protest but stopped when Grantaire squeezed his hand again, though he felt his chest deflating when Grantaire didn’t look at him. Had their little bit of happiness been ruined because he couldn’t be in a regular bathroom at the same time as Grantaire with the door closed? He shuffled over to the tub and sat on the lip to stay out of the way while Éponine went to work. There wasn’t too much hair for her to trim, but Enjolras could still see the difference. He hoped it would make Grantaire feel better. 

Éponine was about halfway through when she cleared her throat and looked at Enjolras in the mirror. He realized his fingers were aching, and he forced himself to lay his hands flat in his lap; Éponine resumed her work. He tried to focus on Grantaire instead. Enjolras didn’t know if Grantaire could even remember that first haircut, but he looked more relaxed than Enjolras had expected as Éponine moved her hands through his hair and across his scalp. Enjolras wondered if Grantaire would like a head massage. If he hadn’t messed up their new dynamic, he would’ve considered offering. 

“Shit. I forgot the clippers. Let me go find them.” Éponine really didn’t have them, but the pointed look she gave Enjolras implied she was leaving for more than one reason.

“Sorry,” he and Grantaire whispered simultaneously. 

“Why are you sorry?” Grantaire asked. “It’s my fault.”

Enjolras went to him. “No, Grantaire, it’s not. It’s not your fault. You didn’t lock me in. No one was going to lock us in now. I just – I have trouble.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry I ruined – everything.”

“You’re not upset with me?” Grantaire asked, a little suspiciously. 

“No. Of course not. Grantaire, I’ll never be upset with you about what happened. I promise.” Grantaire looked up at him, unsure, and Enjolras kissed his forehead. Grantaire smiled slightly but it didn’t reach his eyes, so Enjolras brushed their noses together again. Before he could pull too far away, Grantaire stood up just enough to kiss him. It was longer than their previous kisses, and it felt different, but it was still comforting to have another way to affirm their relationship and their love. When they broke apart, the chair started to roll as Grantaire went to sit in it, and Enjolras flailed his arms but managed to stop the chair and grab Grantaire before he fell. They were silent a moment and then they started to laugh again; Enjolras was relieved he hadn’t ruined everything after all.

Éponine reappeared, clippers in hand, and gave Enjolras a satisfied nod. He felt he had passed some important test. When she had finished shaving the back of Grantaire’s neck, she began to clean up. “Enjolras, would you grab that towel and wipe off Grantaire’s neck?” He complied and he wondered if this was some sort of reward, or maybe a symbol of acceptance. He carefully brushed away all the stray hairs and stroked Grantaire’s neck a few times with his hand when Éponine just so happened to be looking away. Grantaire looked up at him in the mirror and smiled, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. 

Enjolras realized he felt quite sleepy, though in a pleasant way, and he hoped he could just curl up with Grantaire now, but he had forgotten. “Éponine,” Grantaire asked quietly, after she had zipped her bag shut.

“What is it, R?” she asked, far more concerned than the situation warranted. Though maybe it seemed like the right amount from her perspective, since Grantaire didn’t really ask for things.

“Could – could Enjolras get some of his books?”

“Oh. Sure. Are there any specific ones you want, Enjolras, or do you just want me to ask Combeferre to pick some out for you?”

If the idea of reading for enjoyment had been strange, the idea of trying to choose what he wanted to read from a list he didn’t really remember was even worse. “A selection is fine,” he mumbled.

“Sure.” She paused. “Jehan’s arranged for the two of you to have a break before you have to talk to the cops again. I think Combeferre has the day off tomorrow – I can ask him to come by. How do you feel about Courfeyrac coming too? They usually like to spend Combeferre’s free days together.” 

Enjolras touched Grantaire’s shoulder. “Why does Courfeyrac need to come with?” He could see why Combeferre would have the best idea of what books he might like, and it would probably be easiest for Combeferre to also deliver those books. Courfeyrac had nothing to do with anything of that.

“He misses you, Enjolras. He’s going to throw himself into helping with your case as much as he can to avoid saying anything, and I’m only telling you because I trust you to tell me if you really don’t want him to come. You don’t owe him anything, and you don’t have to feel ready to be his best friend right away, or ever, but it might help for you to all spend time together.” She shook her head. “Shit, I sound like Cosette. All I’m trying to say is you seem to be feeling better and socializing with a few more people who only want to take care of you might help.”

“Will one of you stay?” 

Éponine narrowed her eyes and then frowned. “Yeah, I’ll make sure Jehan is around. Enjolras, I totally get why you were so worried, but they weren’t keeping you away from Grantaire just for shits and giggles. We all assumed you understood, even if you weren’t happy about it. They’re not coming here to separate you or anything. You two can snuggle your fucking hearts out the whole time they’re here if you want.” 

Enjolras still wasn’t sure what to say, but Grantaire tilted his head until his ear brushed Enjolras’s hand. They looked at each other in the mirror, while Éponine was suddenly fascinated with the shower wall, and Grantaire nodded slightly. “Alright, that’s – that’s fine.” He swallowed. “Thank you.”

“Good. Feel free to yell at me after work tomorrow if it doesn’t go well.” She picked up her things. “You two should get some sleep. We’re here if you need anything.” She left, and Enjolras rolled the chair back to their room. When he turned around from balancing it back on the desk, he found Grantaire perched on the edge of the bed.

“We can sleep on the bed. If you want,” he offered very quietly. Enjolras couldn’t read Grantaire’s expression, since his face was turned down, which probably meant it wasn’t anything good. 

“Grantaire, I’m more than happy sleeping on the floor. I’m happy, I’m perfectly happy, just to be able to be with you at all. Let alone in our own safe, warm room.” He moved to stand in front of Grantaire and kissed his forehead again. Grantaire moved to kiss his mouth, but Enjolras pulled him to stand before allowing it. If Grantaire still had issues with the bed, he didn’t want any of their happy feelings to get mixed up in it. They didn’t laugh this time when they broke apart, but Grantaire let Enjolras hold him to his chest for a long time, and that was even nicer.


	47. Chapter Forty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E/R talk about Feelings with people that are Not Each Other, for once.

It was still dark the first time Grantaire woke up, after another nightmare. (He hadn’t been a fan of insomnia but if this is what he got instead, he wanted to know where to sign back up.) At least this time he was only left with a unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt an overwhelming urge to get up and check the door (and maybe even the window, just to be thorough) was locked, because even though Master was in jail and couldn’t find Enjolras and hurt him, Grantaire still thought he could and wanted to make sure Enjolras was safe. He tried to slip out of Enjolras’s grasp to triple-check what Enjolras had already double-checked but Enjolras mumbled something unintelligible and held him even tighter. Grantaire did his best to lie still and give Enjolras something to hold and ignore his irrational fear that at any moment Master might barge right through the door. Grantaire must have fallen back asleep while trying to decide which of them Master would punish first, because when he blinked again, the sun was up.

Enjolras was also up, his arms having lost the unconscious relaxation of sleep. Grantaire had no idea what Enjolras was thinking, so he did the easy thing and shuffled enough to signal he was also awake and then followed the guidance of Enjolras’s hand to roll over so they were face-to-face. He felt a rush of terror that Enjolras might kiss him again and he would fucking ruin it because that’s what he did and it was going to remind him of the times Master had kissed him even though Enjolras had specifically said he didn’t want tongue and besides the feeling behind these kisses was totally different but - 

Enjolras softly kissed his forehead and then guided Grantaire to rest his head on Enjolras’s shoulder. Cuddling like this was so nice but of course they couldn’t do it in sleep because he was too disgusting. Enjolras pressed his nose into Grantaire’s newly-cut curls and made a little noise of contentment. It was cute. Enjolras was being cute and smelling his hair and making happy sounds and Grantaire couldn’t even sleep in a bed or kiss normally in what passed for their bed. “You smell nice,” Enjolras mumbled, but his voice was nowhere near as contented as his sound had been. Grantaire didn’t know what to say. “Grantaire, can I – do you mind if I come to the bathroom while you shower? Like in the hospital?” He hesitated between his words. “It’s not because – it doesn’t have anything to do with the – the kissing. I’m not expecting anything of you. I promise I won’t look.” 

“Yeah. Sure.” Grantaire still didn’t want Enjolras to see him naked (which was definitely in contention for his most irrational fear) but he couldn’t have denied Enjolras anything he asked. Especially not when he sounded so small and scared. 

“Thank you,” Enjolras sighed out before kissing Grantaire’s hair again. Grantaire thought he should feel guilty. The fact that he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he should feel guilty about didn’t seem that important. Yes, suggesting he ask for Enjolras’s books had precipitated Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac’s visit, but he hadn’t known such a thing would happen. (After all, his art supplies had just been dropped off, and they were way more specialized than books. Surely anyone could go to Enjolras’s books and carry some to the apartment.) And Enjolras had had to explicitly agree to the visit, and he wouldn’t have if he really thought something bad would happen. But still. Maybe if Grantaire hadn’t been such a wreck at the police station Enjolras would’ve never felt the need to give him a gift and then none of this would ever have happened. Counter-point – he never would’ve considered asking for some of Enjolras’s things, which would probably make Enjolras happy, because of Grantaire, if only indirectly. After further consideration, Grantaire decided that that thought should only make him feel guiltier.

He wallowed in silence until Enjolras decided to get up. Grantaire stood out of the way while he selected clothes for both of them. Enjolras turned around and frowned at the bundle in his arms. “I – we – the laundry needs to be done soon.” Grantaire hadn’t paid much attention, since it’s not like he had had anything to launder for years and it had just been done for them in the hospital, but the announcement wasn’t particularly surprising. They had plenty of clean clothes left, but their past selves hadn’t exactly stocked up on cozy pajamas like endless winter was nigh and wearing a clean set every day would be necessary. He wouldn’t have minded re-wearing clothes at all (especially if he could sneak something Enjolras had worn and wear it and smell it and think about Enjolras wearing it and making it smell that way) but they had been expected to shower and change each day in this hospital, and Grantaire supposed they had just accepted that as the new order of things. 

“I can do it,” Grantaire suggested. He would do any chore that might bring back unhappy memories for Enjolras, and it didn’t hurt this would be one of the easiest. It would be hard for anyone to argue that he wasn’t well enough to be up to the task. 

Enjolras didn’t respond, just kept frowning while staring blankly out the window, lost in thought. Grantaire felt like someone else was controlling his body, giving him courage, when he shuffled forward to brush their noses together and then gently kiss Enjolras on the mouth when he tilted his head in response. It was easier now that Enjolras had gotten the hang of it a little more and that Grantaire knew there was no need to go further. The heady rush of kissing for the first time was gone, so while half of Grantaire’s brain was very happy indeed to be kissing Enjolras, the other half was screaming that it was wrong and he was disgusting, and he hated himself for not being able to just enjoy finally, for real, being with the man he loved so much, especially when Enjolras pulled away and smiled at him.

It wasn’t blinding by any means, but the frown and its accompanying lines were gone from Enjolras’s face. But it was only temporary, for when they had locked themselves in the bathroom, Enjolras settled against the wall opposite the shower, head pressed to his knees, which, while it could have ostensibly been to assure Grantaire of his privacy, the slump of his shoulders told a different story. Grantaire still didn’t know what to say. That was one of the nice things about being allowed to kiss Enjolras – it was a way to show he loved him and cared about him and wanted him to be happy and to feel good without having to try to find the words to say all that without sounding like a lovesick puppy or a total ass. He hated seeing Enjolras so unhappy. But when he dared himself to reach out and stroke Enjolras’s hair (because of fucking course he could convince himself to kiss Enjolras but still be afraid to touch him in other ways unprompted) Enjolras made a pleased sound but didn’t turn his head or say anything. Grantaire wasn’t about to pry.

When he stepped out the shower, Enjolras was sitting in the exact same position. It probably meant nothing. As much as Grantaire blamed himself, he realized Enjolras’s entire inner world probably didn’t revolve around him. He should feel lucky to occupy just a tiny portion of it at all. He touched Enjolras’s head again, to let him know he was dressed. Enjolras looked up, eyes wet with unshed tears. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Enjolras stood up so fast and hugged Grantaire so fiercely that they nearly toppled over from the momentum. Grantaire focused on trying to breathe through the pressure of the embrace while he waited for Enjolras to explain, or just to stop. 

“I was so scared, Grantaire,” he finally whispered. “I woke up and I couldn’t remember what happened and I realized we must have escaped, but then they – they had us and they said I couldn’t see you and I thought I had just made everything worse than if we had stayed with Master and I couldn’t stop worrying something horrible was happening to you or you’d be angry about what I did and now they’re coming here and we used to be best friends but now I’m still afraid they’ll take you away again and I don’t remember how to act normally and-” Enjolras broke off with a sob. Grantaire wasn’t exactly a master of talking about feelings, but this was way above his paygrade. 

“I can tell Jehan I don’t want them to come.” He had no idea where the strength to tell Jehan such a thing would come from, but it would come from somewhere if it would make Enjolras less afraid. His feverish, drugged dreams of Enjolras being gone (now only remembered as just an unhappy blur) could hardly compare to what Enjolras had gone through. If he had woken up and been told by Jehan he couldn’t see Enjolras, he never would’ve been able to trust them again. And that was without the brainwashing or any memories of them being close friends to confuse the whole matter even further. 

“No, this has to happen eventually.” Enjolras sounded totally miserable. “They’re my friends. They’re going to insist on visiting until it happens.” He paused. “They put up with so much shit from me in the hospital. I couldn’t even talk to them. One simple social visit is the least I owe them.”

“You don’t owe them anything,” Grantaire said, surprised at the level of vitriol in his own voice. He had (happily and willingly) endured just about anything if it would make Enjolras feel better, without expecting even recognition or acknowledgement. Enjolras had been very unwell when they got to the hospital, if only in a general sense, and it was legally required for someone to treat him. He hadn’t forced, let alone asked, for Dr. Combeferre to be the one to do that, or for him and Master de Courfeyrac to sit with him all day. 

“You were asleep, Grantaire. I was – very difficult.” 

“Enjolras, you were just scared.” If their positions had been reversed, Grantaire probably would have been on his knees and begging and offering himself to anyone he could find if that’s what it took to be allowed to see Enjolras. No one so far had shown any interest in him, but they probably wouldn’t have described such behavior as difficult. Just because Enjolras had taken it upon himself to get up and try to find Grantaire on his own wasn’t surprising, and it shouldn’t be considered difficult either. Enjolras had always been a complete wreck after being separated. It was hardly shocking that such a separation in a new environment with new people would completely incapacitate his ability to think calmly and rationally. 

“I – just – I was terrified something horrible had happened to you. I needed to know you were fine.” Grantaire couldn’t help but self-consciously touch his forearms. It was his fault more than anyone else’s that Enjolras had such horrible separation anxiety. Of course Enjolras noticed. “Grantaire, please. It’s not your fault. You were just scared, too.” Grantaire tried not to revisit that particular memory, the pain and sadness at the thought of losing Enjolras forever too sharp and always too real, but he had never thought of himself then as scared before, at least not in the way Enjolras was scared. 

Enjolras clung to him for a little while longer, before reluctantly dragging himself away to take his own shower. Grantaire took up Enjolras’s vacated spot, though he pulled up his sleeves and stared at his arms instead of turning his head away. The scars had faded a little with time, but they had most probably required stitches, so they were still a huge and obvious reminder of what he had done. And if that wasn’t bad enough, they only reminded him of the scars he couldn’t see. He knew they were there, and he was terrified of what would happen if Enjolras decided he wanted more than just kissing. How traumatizing would Enjolras’s first experience be if he made Grantaire bleed? Grantaire wanted to pretend if they went slow enough it would be fine, but the nagging fear wasn’t exactly going to help him relax. Nor would the thought that Enjolras would be so disgusted when he discovered the state of Grantaire’s body that he might not touch him ever again. Or even want him around. 

He was so wrapped up in his own misery and terror that he didn’t realize Enjolras was done and dressed until he had knelt in front of Grantaire and covered his arms with his hands. Grantaire flushed and squeezed his eyes shut. He should’ve paid more attention. Presenting Enjolras with a stark reminder of the root cause of all his fear wasn’t going to help things. He wished he could make his scars disappear. He wished he could make himself disappear. But instead of just leaving, Enjolras was stupid and lifted Grantaire’s arms up one at a time to kiss them, before rolling each set of sleeves back down to cover them. Then he stood them both up and kissed Grantaire on the mouth, not releasing him until Grantaire relaxed a little.

They had spent so long dithering about that morning that Éponine had already left for the day when they emerged. Jehan smiled when the two of them sat at the table without prompting and didn’t say anything when they had to reheat their food in the microwave. “Ferre and Courf will be here in about an hour,” was their only commentary. Enjolras remained attentive as they began to eat but he couldn’t stop glancing at the clock and grew more and more preoccupied. He twisted his hands around and around when he finished, glancing around the room as he did so. He took Jehan clearing their plates as a good-enough dismissal and led Grantaire over to the couch.

“I’ll be right back. I promise.” Grantaire thought Enjolras would have kissed him again if Jehan hadn’t been so close. Grantaire sat obediently where Enjolras had put him, straining to hear what was happening over Jehan’s bustling in the kitchen. He heard Enjolras testing the door to the room they shared. He must have locked it from the outside. There was more rustling, and then he heard the bathroom door being tested in the same fashion. Then the door to Jehan and Éponine’s room was closed, though not tested, since Enjolras didn’t have a key. Jehan watched Enjolras come back in to the family room (like they didn’t think Grantaire could tell they were watching from under their eyelashes as they tried to clumsily rinse the dishes by feel, that was his trick) but didn’t say anything. 

Enjolras sat down next to Grantaire, touching his pocket repeatedly to check the room key and the stolen bathroom key were still there. Then he touched Grantaire’s comforter, a question in his eyes. Grantaire was uncomfortable, but he knew Enjolras wasn’t planning to strip him just in time for their visitors. Indeed Enjolras didn’t. Instead he turned Grantaire sideways and put his legs in his lap and then wound the comforter back around both of them. Enjolras’s lower body was exposed but Grantaire was still completely covered. He doubted Enjolras would be strong enough to pick him up from a seated position and carry him away if something bad happened, but then again Enjolras had somehow carried him away from Master’s house, when he was much weaker and Grantaire was totally unconscious, so maybe it was a suitable bluff. (And he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t nice to be wrapped up together.)

Jehan approached when their hour was nearly up. “I’m going to be right at the kitchen table if you need me, alright? Ferre and Courf aren’t going to do anything you don’t want, and you can ask them to leave at any time. Or you can go take a break in your room. There’s no pressure.” Grantaire didn’t need to look at Enjolras to know he was eyeing Jehan suspiciously, even as he nodded jerkily in agreement. There was a knock at the door less than a minute later, and Grantaire wondered if this whole sequence of events was orchestrated to minimize as much Enjolras-and-Grantaire-freaking-out as much as possible. Maybe Enjolras was right when he said they were difficult. (Even if he had been too polite to blame Grantaire as well.)

Jehan let Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac in, pink-cheeked from the cold. Dr. Combeferre had a large shopping bag in one hand and Master de Courfeyrac was carrying a heavy cardboard box, judging from the way he held it carefully in both arms. Grantaire wondered how many books Enjolras had if there was just a selection of them. For his part, Enjolras watched with wide eyes as everything was deposited on the coffee table in front of them. “Hi, Enjolras,” Master de Courfeyrac said too brightly. “Hello, Grantaire.” Then again, he had kept his hat on and the strings bobbed around his shoulders as he spoke, so maybe it was his typical level of brightness when there were no hospitals or police involved. Dr. Combeferre smiled and nodded at them and herded Master de Courfeyrac a little further away to sit in the kitchen chairs Jehan had put out for them. Grantaire looked determinedly at his lap and wondered if they would forget he was there if he held perfectly still. 

“Thank you for the books,” Enjolras finally said, breaking the awkward silence that was otherwise only punctuated by Jehan banging away very loudly on their keyboard. 

“You’re welcome,” Master der Courfeyrac said. “We picked out a bunch of your favorites and some things you hadn’t read yet. And then of course Ferre here insisted we had to stop by the bookstore and buy some more to round it out.” Grantaire couldn’t help but look up, too unsure to gauge how they felt based on tone and words alone. Master de Courfeyrac was rolling his eyes affectionately and while Dr. Combeferre blushed in response, he didn’t really look embarrassed.

“Thank you,” Enjolras repeated, sounding somehow both genuinely grateful and like his teeth were being ripped out.

“Of course. That’s what friends are for,” Master de Courfeyrac replied and Grantaire knew before he even finished the sentence that this was going to strike a nerve.

“I didn’t know friends kept friends away from their partners by force.” Enjolras’s tone was so acidic that Jehan stopped typing to watch the unfolding scene. Master de Courfeyrac’s face fell.

“Enjolras,” Dr. Combeferre began in his ever-patient tone, pushing his glasses up his nose, “let me try to explain again. You can still be angry with me when I’m done. We can even leave if you want.” Enjolras got a better grip on Grantaire and then nodded. Grantaire tried to judge where he would land if Enjolras dropped him, so that he could catch himself before hitting his head on the table. 

Dr. Combeferre paused a moment and seemed to be collecting his thoughts. “Enjolras, I don’t know how much you remember but you were completely delirious by the time the time the Life Flight landed. We had a report from the first doctor you saw that you were non-verbal and disoriented and potentially combative, on top of being malnourished and dehydrated and running a temperature. We had no idea what, if anything, was wrong with you, and you were a danger to yourself and possibly others. We had discussed it while you were en route and felt that, while there were no good choices, sedating you was the best way to let us exam you quickly with the least amount of stress for you. Remember, for all anyone knew there might be some less-than-obvious problem that would’ve required immediate surgery. Can you honestly tell me if we had let you stay awake that you wouldn’t have fought us the entire time?” 

Enjolras considered this for long enough that Grantaire thought Dr. Combeferre was telling the truth, even if Enjolras didn’t want to admit it. “You didn’t let me see, Grantaire,” he said, his voice getting stronger as it went, like he was remembering he was supposed to be angry. 

“You had a fever when you were admitted. The best practice is for anyone to stay home for 24 hours once their fever breaks, and that’s just for otherwise healthy people. We wanted to make sure you didn’t make Grantaire worse. We didn’t know you were sick with the same thing.” Dr. Combeferre looked at Master de Courfeyrac for a moment. “Joly had to argue for hours so that Jehan and Éponine could stay outside of visiting hours. I don’t even know how he managed to convince management to let you and Grantaire share a room together.”

Grantaire frowned. It was probably just chance that Dr. Joly had picked two people to stay with him that he wasn’t immediately terrified of, but that was a lot of effort to go to, no matter who was eventually chosen. And he had made sure Enjolras would get to stay? It was hard to reconcile all that with his fear that Dr. Joly would surely beat Enjolras for bad behavior, Enjolras’s frightened memories, and his own lack of self-worth. Only a true friend would go to that much trouble for someone, but he was too disgusting to have any true friends. 

“You tied me up,” Enjolras insisted, though he was more confused than angry now. 

Dr. Combeferre looked pained. “Enjolras, I restrained you because I worried if you woke up in a new environment you might panic and hurt yourself. I had no idea how much you would remember, or clearly remember, about what happened or what you normally did when you woke up or how you would handle the stress. Even a planned admission to the hospital for a routine issue can be extremely stressful for some patients. It was hard for me to do as your friend, but it was my duty as your doctor.”

Enjolras sat quietly, thinking over what Dr. Combeferre had said. Grantaire didn’t like the idea of Enjolras tied up either, but he could also see how a stricken Enjolras could have flailed out of bed and hurt himself while feverish and sick and weak. Master had tied Enjolras up for control and intimidation and torture and punishment and sadistic pleasure, not because he cared about keeping Enjolras safe. 

“We’re really happy you and Grantaire are together. We would never do anything to stop that,” Master de Courfeyrac assured them. 

Enjolras nodded slightly and looked up sharply. “Are you married?” The question surprised Grantaire and put him on edge. Why was Enjolras thinking about marriage? At least Master de Courfeyrac had turned red and Dr. Combeferre was cleaning his glasses, so he wasn’t the only one.

Dr. Combeferre finished with his glasses and put them back in place. “No, Enjolras. We talked about it, but neither of us felt it would be right while you were missing.”

“Oh.” Enjolras frowned. “But Marius and Cosette got married?” He said their names a little more slowly than the rest of his words. 

“Yes. They had a wedding, but they always planned to have a party for a milestone anniversary – when you came back. They both wished you had been there to celebrate.”

“I knew Marius really missed you when he had no qualms agreeing to having a second huge party,” Master de Courfeyrac added.

“Oh.” Enjolras fell silent again, ruminating on everything he had just been told. 

When it went on nearly long enough to qualify as brooding, Master de Courfeyrac asked, “Would you like to go through what we brought, Enjolras?” He (wisely) didn’t wait for a reply and started pulling books out of the box and talking about them. Enjolras slowly grew more interested until he was absorbed. While Grantaire was happy to lie around all day doing absolutely nothing, Enjolras had probably been bored as fuck. Grantaire felt insanely jealous he wasn’t the one making Enjolras happy right now, but that only led him to think about the types of things he could do to make Enjolras happy, which made him insanely depressed. He had a sudden idea.

Dr. Combeferre was watching Master de Courfeyrac and Enjolras with a small smile. Grantaire half-looked at him until he noticed. “Grantaire? Is there something you want to talk about?” Master de Courfeyrac stopped talking and Enjolras looked between them several times. Grantaire nodded. He willed himself not to cry. It would be humiliating to cry before they ever had a conversation. He nodded and touched Enjolras’s arm. He was already trying to think of ways to avoid a conversation about this later.

“Jehan, do you think we can borrow the table for a minute?” Dr. Combeferre asked, even as Jehan was already closing their laptop. 

“Of course. Enjolras, do you want to show me what you got?” What Enjolras wanted to do was watch Grantaire like a hawk as he untangled himself and settled at the kitchen table across from Dr. Combeferre. Master de Courfeyrac tried valiantly to distract him, but Enjolras only half-turned away.

Dr. Combeferre watched Grantaire calmly, waiting for him to speak. When Grantaire was silent for too long, he asked, “Would you feel more comfortable talking to Joly, Grantaire? I can ask him to come by when he gets off work.”

Grantaire shook his head. If he waited, he would lose his nerve entirely. “Is there anything you can do about scars?” he finally whispered.

“The ones on your arms?” Dr. Combeferre asked, voice free of judgment, even though his question implied he knew there was another set Grantaire might be asking about. Grantaire nodded, afraid to look up from the table. “I know this isn’t the answer you want, but probably just time. There will probably be improvement as your body recovers and doesn’t need to use all its energy to keep you alive. There are creams you could try, but the success rate is fairly low.”

Grantaire wasn’t surprised. He would just have to wear long sleeves the rest of his life. “What about – do – are all scars the same?” He wanted to sink through the floor and die of shame. He looked up for one nanosecond but Dr. Combeferre’s expression hadn’t changed. He gave no indication of being offended or disgusted by what Grantaire was asking.

And he did understand the question. “Time will help any scars. It could take several years for them to heal, but you can experiment as long as you go slowly and stop if there is any pain or discomfort. If you do bleed, it would be important to go to the doctor and get checked, even if it’s uncomfortable. You could get very sick.” Grantaire was grateful that Dr. Combeferre could discuss this so matter-of-factly but that didn’t take away the sinking feeling at hearing it could be years before Enjolras could penetrate him. That would be one of the few ways Grantaire could convince him to stay. Enjolras would leave long before he had a chance to try. 

“Grantaire.” Something in Dr. Combeferre’s voice made him look up. “Enjolras wouldn’t act the way that he does unless he loved you. It’s not just his separation anxiety or his general anxiety or some sort of misplaced feelings.” Grantaire had to agree Enjolras probably didn’t go around kissing (repeatedly or with enjoyment) people he didn’t truly love. Dr. Combeferre fiddled with his glasses. “I don’t think Enjolras would ever value you for sex. Not on its own.”

“He – he told me,” Grantaire confirmed, glancing up at Dr. Combeferre to make sure he understood exactly. He wondered who else Enjolras had come out to, and who he hadn’t. He admired Dr. Combeferre for finding a way to mention it without explicitly outing Enjolras. It must be hard when he had no idea what Enjolras and Grantaire had actually talked about. Considering how much of their time was spent being silent when anyone else was around, maybe he thought they didn’t talk about anything at all.

“Do you want me to recommend a counselor who can talk about this specifically?”

“No,” Grantaire whispered automatically. He could think of little else he would hate more.

“Do you want me to help you talk to Enjolras about this? He would never judge you, but I’m sure it would be an uncomfortable conversation.”

Grantaire shook his head quickly. That would be even worse than talking to a counselor. His new plan was to think of several years of sexual escapades he could distract Enjolras with to keep him from ever knowing this was a problem. He mostly managed to delude himself that it would work.

“Alright. You can always change your mind.” He shifted. “Shall we go back? Enjolras is starting to give me the death glare.”

They swapped places with Jehan, and Enjolras was totally focused as he re-wrapped the two of them together. Even when he went back to trying to pay attention to the conversation, he gently rubbed Grantaire’s arm. Grantaire didn’t want to talk about this later, but he had a feeling if he tried to revert to the silent treatment, Enjolras might stop kissing him as punishment. Which would be worse?

He still hadn’t decided by the time he started to nod off, lulled by the quiet voices and Enjolras’s touch. He was roused by Dr. Combeferre saying, a little louder than necessary, “Courf, maybe we should think of leaving soon.” Grantaire peeled his eyes open to find Enjolras barely keeping himself awake as well. Their departure was less awkward than their arrival. Jehan was also considerate enough to pretend not to notice when Enjolras opened their bedroom door and unlocked the bathroom, putting the key back on the lintel above it. 

“Are you feeling better?” Grantaire asked when they had curled up in their nest, to forestall Enjolras asking any awkward questions. His verbal avoidance game needed work.

“I – I do.” Enjolras was surprised and maybe a little reluctant. Grantaire was already out of ideas of what to say. He really needed practice.

He hoped Enjolras had fallen asleep, but he eventually murmured, “Grantaire, you know I love you, right?”

“I love you, too,” Grantaire responded, even though that wasn’t quite what Enjolras had asked. 

Enjolras hesitated. “Grantaire, I know I can’t answer your medical questions and you’re allowed to have privacy, but you don’t have to hide anything from me. I won’t ever judge you.” He kissed the top of Grantaire’s head. “After our nap, and I guess after Jehan feeds us, do you want to sit together? I thought I could read and you could draw?” 

Grantaire could hardly believe what his life was like now. He had gone from asking how he might have consensual sex to being asked to spend the afternoon in Enjolras’s company, relaxing, with no one to bother them or make them do anything or hurt them. He felt like he should tell Enjolras what he had asked Dr. Combeferre, rather than waiting to spring it on him in the moment, but instead he just said, “Sure. If that’s what you’d like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is set roughly now (though let's say a slight AU because I feel like Trump being president would totally alter Enjolras's ultimate character trajectory and I don't really want this fic to have to explore that), but same-sex marriage was legalized in New York in 2011, so E/R would know C/C could be married, even without knowing it had been legalized nationwide.


	48. Chapter Forty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will we ever stop talking about Feelings now that we've started? Probably not.

Enjolras set the final load of books down on his desk, balanced precariously next to the chair. He felt a little unsettled from having slept and then eaten, instead of the other way around, and he felt a little more unsettled that such a small change in his routine, even one for his benefit, was enough to throw him off-balance. He also felt a little ashamed what Combeferre and Courfeyrac had carried between them at once up to the apartment had taken him and Grantaire several trips to bring to the bedroom. He had avoided eye contact with Jehan so they wouldn’t offer to help.

Grantaire hovered off to the side. Enjolras caught his hands just before he started twisting them together. “I – I should put these away.” It was such a ridiculous, irrational fear. He knew Jehan wouldn’t be angry if they did come in, though they might be upset about his and Grantaire’s current sleeping arrangement or ask questions about why they had turned the desk around and felt safest sitting in the closet. They certainly wouldn’t punish Enjolras for leaving his books out, but he couldn’t shake the nagging sensation that if he didn’t keep their room neat or take proper care of the gift he had been given, that something horrible was bound to happen. He just wanted to pick one out and sit with Grantaire and enjoy the rest of their afternoon in peace and quiet. But instead he was working himself up over putting his own books away on his own shelf in his own room. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

“Do you not want me to help?” Grantaire asked quietly, looking intently at his feet. Enjolras cursed himself. He suspected whatever Grantaire had asked Combeferre was related to his scars, but even if it wasn’t, Grantaire was still extremely vulnerable, and the last thing Enjolras wanted was for him to feel rejected.

“Of course I want you with me, Grantaire,” he reassured his partner. “I just want you to be able to relax.”

Grantaire continued watching his feet. “I feel most relaxed when I’m with you,” he mumbled, Enjolras guessing rather than hearing half his words.

“Whatever you want,” Enjolras said as warmly as he could, crossing over to kiss the top of Grantaire’s bowed head and take him by the hand to lead him back to the desk. The persistent buzzing in Enjolras’s head quieted as they started to sort the books by author’s last name, making miniature piles for each letter. He had thought it would feel like any other tedious chore he had been forced to do, but he was surprised how pleasant and…domestic it was, working quietly alongside Grantaire to arrange his own possessions to his liking. How nice would it be to get their own apartment and decorate it just the way they wanted? Never mind the logistics or potential problems of actually doing such a thing – it was just nice to fantasize it would be exactly like this.

Once they had re-sorted the books, Grantaire went through and alphabetized each individual pile while Enjolras shelved them. It didn’t take long at all, since Combeferre and Courfeyrac had only brought some of his books, plus the few new ones, so they didn’t even fill the bookcase, though he had to set a few oversized volumes on top, but he still felt obligated to apologize. “I’m sorry, Grantaire. I just couldn’t settle until that was done.”

“Enjolras, really, it’s fine.” He smiled wryly. “I’m the one who insists on sitting in the closet. You hardly need to apologize for wanting to put your stuff away.” Enjolras didn’t like how much real pain was hiding behind Grantaire’s self-deprecation, but he let it go. He still hoped Grantaire would open up about his conversation with Combeferre, and it seemed important to pick that battle over all others. He would just have to show Grantaire how happy he was to have a safe space to sit with him. 

“Do you want to get comfortable while I pick something out? I promise I’ll be right there.” He thought Grantaire might want a little space to find a comfortable position for sketching without feeling like he had to defer to Enjolras’s desires. Grantaire shuffled away. Enjolras turned to look at his choices. He was immediately overwhelmed when faced with having to pick just one book out. He felt his heart start to race as the paralysis dragged on. How could he think he was ready to live on his own, let alone support himself and Grantaire when he couldn’t even choose something to read from a selection curated for him by his best friends? He finally squeezed his eyes shut and pulled something off the shelf at random. It was better than trying to explain to Grantaire, and then probably Jehan, why he was having a panic attack.

He held the worn paperback to his chest and went to Grantaire. He had settled into his favorite niche, sketchbook propped against his knees. Enjolras settled next to him and rubbed Grantaire’s shins until Grantaire hummed in response. He opened his book and tried to read. His eyes moved over the words for several pages, until he realized he had no idea what he had just read. It wasn’t like when he first woke up at the hospital and reading even large signs felt foreign and strange and difficult. At least now he recognized what was in front of him was words and he could tell what they were, but trying to follow them for more than a few sentences was extraordinarily difficult. 

He flipped back to the beginning and hoped Grantaire wouldn’t notice that his partner was falling apart. Enjolras didn’t know how he was supposed to conceal it when a re-read resulted in only a little more retention. Whenever he tried to focus harder on the words, the harder it became to make any sense of them, and all his buried worries started pressing on his mind. How could he read a story when he still needed to decide how to talk to Combeferre about his money and find a place they could afford to live and find some sort of job and ask Grantaire what was bothering him without making him panic and figure out how to make Grantaire feel happy and secure and – 

How was he going to go to law school when he couldn’t even read one chapter from a novel?

Enjolras set the book to the side and started rubbing Grantaire’s shins again. It felt comforting to care for his partner, doubly so because it would make Grantaire happier as well. Grantaire hummed again and the smiled shyly over his knees at Enjolras when he didn’t stop. Enjolras wondered if now would be a good time to gently press Grantaure, but he decided he should be in a better frame of mind himself before attempting anything like that. 

Gradually his hand moved in wider stokes, reaching Grantaire’s feet, though they were too padded for it to be ticklish. He suddenly stopped. “Enjolras, what’s wrong?” Grantaire asked almost immediately.

“I wasn’t even wearing shoes,” Enjolras whispered, surprised by his own words. 

Grantaire sat up a little. “Not wearing shoes? When? What do you mean?” His concern sounded out of proportion to the situation. 

“I’m not – I’m not having a flashback,” Enjolras assured him. His own voice sounded weirdly far away, but he still knew where he was and what was real. He had felt a little better after Combeferre had explained what happened, but now he truly understood. “Just – I – the first time I woke up. Or the first time I woke up and was well enough to know where I was. I didn’t – I didn’t know where you were or if you were alright. I snuck out when Combeferre and Courfeyrac were in the bathroom. I stole Courfeyrac’s jacket to cover my gown, but I was still in just those non-slip socks. I thought if I tried to act normal no one in the hospital would notice something was wrong until I was reported missing.” He let out a dry sob and covered his face. “I don’t even look normal now. I had just woken up from a fever and was terrified and in giant pajamas. I’m surprised the receptionist didn’t just call security to remove me. I must’ve looked totally insane. I can’t even imagine. It’s no wonder Combeferre thought I needed to be sedated and restrained so I wouldn’t hurt myself.”

There was a rustling as Grantaire set his sketchbook to the side and twisted to sit next to Enjolras. Enjolras felt so guilty when Grantaire started to rub his back. He almost wished he could cry this time, if only to try to purge the terrible feelings inside him, but no tears came. “I thought I could just walk around the hospital in socks and no one would notice,” he repeated. “I thought that was a completely reasonable thing to do.” And he had thought that. Or, at the very least, he had felt it was a solid disguise that would let him get to Grantaire unnoticed. If someone had been at the nurses station when he had gotten to the ICU, there was no way they would have let him in. He felt his lingering anger towards his best friends evaporate, but he also felt like he was plummeting and was never going to stop. What must his friends have thought of him in such a state, so disoriented but so insistent that he was fine? 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not sure to whom he was apologizing or for what or why. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire breathed, managing to convey so much in just that single word. 

“Is there how you feel sometimes, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, looking up sharply.

Grantaire froze. “What do you mean?” he asked, though his tone conveyed he had some idea what Enjolras meant.

“Do you worry I’m going to send you away or – reject you for – for struggling to adjust?”

Grantaire dropped his hand and laughed hoarsely. “Enjolras, if you think I’ve ever been well-adjusted, you’re still more disoriented than anyone thinks.”

It took Enjolras’s breath away just how much Grantaire hated himself. It might not be the most well-advised response, but he tipped Grantaire’s chin up and leaned over to kiss him for a very long time, not knowing how else to convince Grantaire how loved and treasured he was. Grantaire’s eyes were wide when Enjolras finally pulled away. “You – you still kissed me,” he said, completely amazed. 

“Of course I still kissed you,” Enjolras replied, even though he didn’t know why he wouldn’t have. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I never told you what I asked – what we talked about.” 

Enjolras needed a moment to recover before he responded. “Grantaire, I already told you – I would never insist on invading your privacy like that. You’re allowed to have conversations with whoever you’d like without having to tell me about them. I would certainly never withhold affection, for that reason or any other.”

“You wouldn’t? Even I were – naughty?” Grantaire’s last word was barely audible. 

Enjolras wanted to scream for the damage that had been done to Grantaire. To both of them. He pulled Grantaire to him. “Grantaire, you’re not naughty. You never were.” Enjolras conveniently left out his own persistent worry about being bad. “If you talked to Combeferre about something intimate, that’s not naughty. I’ll listen if you want to tell me, but you don’t have to. And I would certainly never withhold anything from you because of it.”

Grantaire was silent and then burst into tears. It went on for a long time, but Enjolras had the feeling it was more cathartic than miserable. Or maybe it was just cathartic for him to be able to hold and soothe Grantaire as he cried. Enjolras could hardly believe how strong Grantaire was to hold such pain inside for so long. Grantaire eventually quieted, rubbing his eyes roughly with his sleeve. “Sorry,” he said hoarsely.

“It’s alright.” Enjolras wrapped both arms around Grantaire’s waist and encouraged him to put his legs back in Enjolras’s lap and to lean against him. “Not too much?” he asked, because even though Grantaire was still sitting next to him, he hadn’t realized how close this came to lap-sitting until they were arranged. Grantaire wordlessly shook his head. It seemed like he was gathering his thoughts, or maybe working up the courage to share them, so Enjolras forced himself to sit quietly and wait. When Grantaire started to tremble, he squeezed him gently. “Grantaire, no matter what you tell me, I promise we’ll stay just like this. I’m not going to send you away.”

Grantaire was silent for a little longer. “Do you know what I asked about?” he whispered.

This was a lot of pressure. If Enjolras guessed wrong, Grantaire would probably misinterpret it in some way. He assumed it was about Grantaire’s scars, but he had been so small and ashamed when he was sitting with Combeferre that Enjolras imagined there was more to it than that, though he didn’t know what. He knew Grantaire was embarrassed about his arms, but Enjolras had seen the scars for years now and, when he did consciously notice them, it only made him feel bad about himself, since he had led Grantaire to believe he would either be abandoned or, probably worse in Grantaire’s mind, rescued but subsequently rejected. Maybe Grantaire’s shame was just catching up to him now that he could choose to cover himself, but he had to know Enjolras wouldn’t judge him, didn’t he? 

“Was it about your scars?” Enjolras asked, trying to keep his voice as soft and gentle as possible. Grantaire flinched but didn’t respond, so Enjolras clarified, “On your arms?”

He heard Grantaire swallow a few times. “Not – not just those.” There was an expectant silence, like Grantaire wanted Enjolras to extrapolate this answer to the real solution. Enjolras racked his brain trying to think of what other scars Grantaire had. It was hard: he had become desensitized to seeing Grantaire naked over the years but he still tried his best not to stare or look too closely. He had seen Master put Grantaire through some physical discomfort, whether it was the occasional slap or an extended period of kneeling, but none of it had been anything that would have left permanent marks; that was what Enjolras was for. 

Had Master done something to Grantaire in secret? Enjolras had learned to give Grantaire his space after such times, and had tried extra hard not to look at him until he’d had a chance to clean himself up, so he could have missed something. He tried to picture what little he had seen in his mind, but it was mostly images of Grantaire hobbling gingerly around. Oh. 

“Are they internal?” He squeezed Grantaire again when he asked, to try to demonstrate he still loved Grantaire, despite this new information. He wished he could come across as more confident and in-control of the conversation, since his reactions would probably have a significant influence on how Grantaire viewed himself, but he had no idea how to be confident or in-control while discussing the anal scarring his partner had developed as a product of repeated rapes that he had done nothing to stop. 

Grantaire nodded against Enjolras’s chest and then mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Enjolras replied immediately. He couldn’t of anything anyone should be less sorry about. 

“Yes, I do,” Grantaire sounded utterly defeated. “He – he said it might take several years for them to heal enough to – to, you know-”

“Grantaire, there’s no rush. This isn’t a race. It’s not fair at all that you’re not able to consider doing something you want, and I know it’s probably really important to you, but there’s no pressure from me. Even if you just didn’t want to ever have sex like that, or at all, I would never pressure you about it. Or be unhappy about it, either. I promise we can discuss it in a few years when you’re healed, but please don’t worry about it? I’m sure there are plenty of other things we can do instead.”

Grantaire snorted. “I’m disgusting. I somehow doubt we’ll be having any conversations in a few years.”

Enjolras again had the desire to scream, but that wasn’t what Grantaire needed right now. He had wondered briefly when he had asked Combeferre and Courfeyrac if they had married if Grantaire would feel more secure if Enjolras asked him to marry him, but this response confirmed his fear that Grantaire wouldn’t feel like he could accept such a proposal and would brush it off, even if it was what he really wanted. Enjolras had a feeling trying to simply reassure Grantaire would have the same effect, or lack thereof. 

“Grantaire, do you think I’m disgusting?” 

“What? No! Of course not.” Grantaire sounded horrified by the very thought. 

“But I have plenty of scars too.” The role reversal felt odd, but it was true. The most glaring ones, to him at least, were on his wrists and ankles, but he was covered in them, from his calves to his shoulders, from his shins to his chest. He hardly noticed them anymore, especially now that no new ones were being added, but they were there.

“That’s not the same,” Grantaire said matter-of-factly, like this was apparently obvious to everyone but Enjolras.

“How is different?”

“It – it just is.” Grantaire shook his head. “I’m sorry. You wouldn’t have any if I had been better.”

“Fuck, Grantaire, that’s not – that’s not what I wanted you to get out of this. It’s not an overexaggeration to say I would’ve died without you. I was just trying to say we were both hurt in ways we didn’t want for reasons that weren’t our fault. If you don’t think I’m disgusting, you shouldn’t think you’re disgusting.”

“But – it’s not – they’re not – inside you.”

“I know. I can’t even imagine what you want through. But you’re so fucking strong and brave to have survived. The fact you even let me anywhere near you, let alone touch you, is an amazing gift.”

“It’s nothing special,” Grantaire mumbled.

“It is special, Grantaire. It’s so special. I know I’m not doing a very good job explaining myself. I’m not opposed to having sex with you, and I would like it, I’m fine without it, especially if it’s just going to make you this stressed and upset. I’m just happy to be with you and to have you safe.”

Grantaire was quiet for a little while before repeating, “I’m sorry. It’s just – hard.” Enjolras wasn’t sure what was hard. Maybe everything. 

“I know. I know.”

They sat curled together in silence for a time. Enjolras didn’t think he had anything else particularly helpful to say, so he just squeezed Grantaire at regular intervals. Today had been a nice break, but tomorrow they would be back at the police station, and he should do his best to just enjoy the moment. It was hard, it was so hard, to not jump ahead to the next stressful event. But maybe he should, he supposed, as he replayed their conversation in his mind.

“Grantaire?” His partner hummed in reply, sounding like he might even be half-asleep, but Enjolras had to keep going now. “Are you – are you going to be alright sitting with me tomorrow? I didn’t – didn’t realize how much you blamed yourself for what happened to me, and I feel selfish that I want you with me when I have to talk about everything, but you said you feel better being with me? I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’d really prefer.”

“I don’t even know what I’d prefer,” Grantaire said, but he sounded a little more like himself. “If you want me with you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Alright.” Enjolras kissed Grantaire’s head, even as he was uncomfortable at just how casual Grantaire was about sublimating, or outright ignoring, his own desires to please Enjolras. It felt terribly, horribly selfish, and maybe even exploitative, but if that’s really what made Grantaire happy, maybe he just needed to get over his own compunctions about the situation. He definitely should do that, since their situation involved hiding in a closet in an already locked room for safety; there was nothing normal about it. 

Grantaire shifted a little, and his foot nudged Enjolras’s book. Grantaire picked his head up slightly to look at what he had kicked. “How is it?” he asked as he set his head back down.

“Oh. I don’t – I couldn’t really focus.” Enjolras burned with shame at the admission, but Grantaire didn’t comment about that.

“Were you still upset from their visit?” For someone so unwilling to talk about his own thoughts and feelings, Grantaire was pretty good at talking about Enjolras’s. 

“I didn’t think so, I was just – worrying about lots of things. But I guess I was probably still unsettled. I’m just so afraid of losing you, and I don’t even know how I’m going to take care of you.”

“What do you mean?” Grantaire asked, like the idea of Enjolras taking care of him was a very strange concept requiring lengthy explanations. Enjolras hated that he felt that way. 

“I mean – everything, I guess. I worry I’m not going to make you happy. But I also don’t know how I’m going to handle law school and work and paying bills and living independently and-” He cut himself off. “Sorry, I’m spiraling again.”

“Enjolras, it’s fine,” Grantaire said, oddly confident. “I don’t care if you don’t go to law school, though I’m sure you’d be top of your class if you did. But if you want to do something else, I’m sure you’d be the best at that too.” Enjolras couldn’t decide if it was more or less scary that Grantaire truly believed every word.

“You don’t care?”

“No, of course not. Honestly, law school sounds like a huge waste of time and money. You could probably scrape by and – they’d still hire you. There’s no reason to put yourself through all that strain unless you really want to. And I know I’m pretty fucking messed up, but I can get a job too.”

Did Enjolras really want to go to law school? After having no control over his life, was planning to pick up where he left off just a safe way to give him the illusion of control? Because it was hardly a real choice if he made it automatically, without thought. He was still worried Courfeyrac and Marius, and the rest of their friends, would be disappointed in him if he didn’t, but Grantaire was right that it would be a massive amount of work, and it would be silly to punish himself like that if it wasn’t what he really wanted. He wished he had always come to Grantaire for advice. But he needed to fix the other mess he had just created.

“Grantaire, I wasn’t trying to say you can’t get a job. I just honestly have no idea how art works, and I don’t want you to feel pressured about it or anything. I know there probably aren’t a lot of job postings that just say ‘artist.’” 

Grantaire laughed, but it was more genuine this time. “Enjolras, I know the whole concept of being a starving artist is romantic, but it’s really just a bunch of romantic bullshit. I’d rather not starve again if I can help it. I meant I can a real job. It doesn’t even have to be retail. There must be at least one company that thinks my college degree will make me superior enough at entering data like a robot to hire me despite my inability to function. I don’t expect you to support me so I can pursue my dreams or whatever.”

“You do deserve to pursue your dreams, Grantaire!” Enjolras exclaimed, even as he had a feeling he wouldn’t win this particular argument, at least not tonight. “I know – I think I have some money. I should’ve asked Combeferre but there was just – so much happening. And I don’t really…remember how it works anymore. But I think we could get by for awhile.”

“I’m not letting you waste your money on me like that.”

“It’s not a waste,” but Enjolras bit back his anger and let it go. He would have to find some way to convince Grantaire he was happy to support him financially, but it wasn’t worth disrupting their evening to belabor the point when Grantaire wasn’t in a place to accept it. He kissed Grantaire’s head again as a personal compromise.

“Are you hungry?” Grantaire asked, maybe to head off any further arguments from Enjolras.

He realized he actually was. Combeferre had been right again: paying attention to his own hunger signals was difficult. It was nice to know he could eat regularly now, but trying to remind to check when exactly he wanted to eat was another level of difficulty. “I am.” He hesitated. “Do you think – should I tell Combeferre and Courfeyrac that I’m not angry anymore?”

“They’d probably like that,” Grantaire said, but he stiffened a little. 

Enjolras took a shot in the dark. “Grantaire, they’re just my friends. They’re not going to replace you.” 

“I know,” said Grantaire like he hadn’t been worried, but he did relax a little. Was he…jealous? Or maybe the real question was, how could he not be? He was obviously devoted to making Enjolras as happy as possible while simultaneously being worried that he wasn’t doing enough and could never do enough; after so long alone with Enjolras, it must be really difficult for him to watch other people make Enjolras happy. 

It was probably more than really difficult, it was probably like pouring salt in an open wound. Especially since Combeferre also knew about Grantaire’s lingering health issues, and Grantaire might think Combeferre would use that information to drive a wedge between the two of them. Enjolras didn’t think Combeferre would do any such thing, but who knows what extra mind games Master had played with Grantaire about sex, on top of the regular brainwashing. 

And Enjolras had to admit to himself, if he saw Grantaire enjoying the company of his close friends, he would feel a twinge of jealousy too, even if he knew it was ridiculous. He could only imagine what Cosette would make of all this. He didn’t want her to know in case she suggested something horrible, like spending time apart.

“Grantaire, I promise. I love you. I want to be with you.” He left the “forever” unsaid for now.


	49. Chapter Forty-nine

Grantaire didn’t understand why Enjolras was being so mean and forcing him to get up and leave their room. Enjolras probably didn’t mean to be mean and just wanted Grantaire to eat, but that was going to cut into Grantaire’s self-hatred time. He could still hate himself at the kitchen table, but his ideal situation would be sitting alone in the closet (and probably scratching his arms, if he was going to be perfectly honest with himself.) He thought it would be a relief for Enjolras to finally know his secret – no air quotes needed since Enjolras had clearly had to think about what Grantaire was trying to say, even when Grantaire practically led him to the answer– and it was a relief, in a way. Not that Enjolras couldn’t change his mind, though he had been…insistent enough that such a possibility seemed far away, but he hadn’t thrown Grantaire out the window in disgust and then burned his own hands off to get rid of any possible taint. (Or, more realistically, asked Grantaire to please leave and find somewhere else to stay until he could pretend to be a functional person.) He couldn’t imagine when that would ever happen, and he didn’t think it really ever could, if Enjolras sent him away.

It was a nice gesture for Enjolras to pretend they had both suffered the same type of physical damage, when he was healing slowly but steadily, while Grantaire was going to be crippled for years to come. Even if Enjolras had been telling the truth and would still inexplicably be interested in Grantaire after the enforced waiting period had elapsed, how would he ever be able to forget why they had had to wait and not become too disgusted to continue? And while Grantaire was genuinely happy Enjolras had enjoyed spending time with his friends, he had to wonder how long it would be before Enjolras realized his time would be better spent in the company of people like that – people who just made him happy without all sorts of bullshit baggage along for the ride. Not that Grantaire was really convinced he made Enjolras happy to start with, baggage or not. 

But Enjolras was just patiently waiting for Grantaire to drag his sorry ass out of the closet, which he finally did, if only so Enjolras could eat. Enjolras smiled shyly when Grantaire emerged and reached for his arm. Grantaire obediently held it out and was surprised when Enjolras interlaced their fingers instead of just grabbing his wrist. It was pretty fucking stupid that Grantaire was nervous to go walk around the apartment holding hands for real like this, instead of hiding it under blankets or behind closed doors. Jehan and Éponine had seen them snuggling, not to mention their innumerable breakdowns. But, yes, holding hands like a normal couple was one of the most shameful things he had ever done. 

“Is this alright?” Enjolras asked, stroking Grantaire’s knuckles with his thumb. He wasn’t really sure how much everyone knew, other than Dr. Combeferre and Dr. Joly, but Jehan had a grasp on his myriad of issues. What if they thought less of Enjolras for walking around, rather happily, hand-in-hand with Grantaire? It was a comfort that if they did know his secret, they could no longer surprise Enjolras with it. In fact, Enjolras would probably be angry at the attempted manipulation, and protective of Grantaire. But that didn’t mean Jehan couldn’t judge Enjolras and be disappointed in his choice of partner. Grantaire was definitely going to need to sneak away to hurt himself if they did that.

In reality, they did no such thing. They were puttering around the kitchen, while Éponine sat at the table. Enjolras stopped a short distance away, standing a little bit apart to make their joined hands more obvious and visible. Jehan and Éponine eventually noticed them standing there silently and both of them smiled – Jehan gently, Éponine so broadly Grantaire thought her head might explode. “I love Grantaire,” Enjolras announced abruptly. Grantaire looked at him in surprise, and then at the floor, only getting a glimpse of how this pronouncement had made Jehan and Éponine smile more. This somehow made him feel worse than if Enjolras had gone door-to-door proclaiming how gross Grantaire was. He hated that his urge to go to the bathroom to scrape at his arms hadn’t really lessened, despite something so good happening. Why did Enjolras have any desire to stay with him when he was this much of a mess?

Enjolras held tight to Grantaire’s hand while using the free one to awkwardly push two chairs together so they could sit shoulder-to-shoulder while they ate. This too felt like too much open flaunting of their relationship, even though it was still less contact than when they cuddled. For fuck’s sake, Grantaire reminded himself, Jehan and Éponine had spent weeks watching him curl up in a one-person bed with Enjolras and never said anything. Now he was afraid to sit sort of close to Enjolras in their presence. He wasn’t sure if Enjolras could tell he was nervous (though if he did, he probably had no idea what the hell Grantaire’s problem was) but he was very attentive all the same. Grantaire tried not to cringe away from Enjolras’s touch, but it was hard, under the happy scrutiny of Jehan and Éponine and Enjolras’s insistent love. He wanted to crawl under the table to hide and probably cry, since he wouldn’t be able to hurt himself while there.

When Enjolras was almost done eating, long after Jehan and Éponine were finished, he pushed the last bit of food around on his plate. “Is it – can I – today was nice,” he forced out. Grantaire didn’t understand why it was so easy for Enjolras to say he loved Grantaire but so hard for him to ask to thank his friends. Enjolras hesitantly looked at Grantaire, and Grantaire stared at the table and hoped it would turn into a black hole and suck him in. He didn’t know if Enjolras was just scared (likely but he wouldn’t show it so blatantly in front of others) or had picked up on Grantaire’s terrific, horrific jealousy (also likely, because when his tried and true method of total avoidance failed, he wasn’t that spectacular at hiding how he felt.) He shouldn’t keep ruining Enjolras’s happiness like this. 

“Do you want Combeferre and Courfeyrac to know that?” Jehan asked. “I think that would make them both really happy.”

Enjolras nodded and pushed his food around a little more. “Will – will you tell them?” His voice was small. 

Jehan and Éponine exchanged a look. “Do you want to tell them, Enjolras?” Grantaire reached out to touch Enjolras’s arm before he could think too much about it. Jehan sounded even more gentle than usual, which was very, and Grantaire didn’t know what that meant. It was dark out, but that didn’t mean Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac couldn’t come back and do…something, and that something would probably be unpleasant if Jehan was handling Enjolras with kid gloves.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras was almost inaudible now. He must be having similar thoughts. 

Jehan and Éponine looked at each other again. Éponine shook her head but also shrugged, which seemed more confusing than helpful to Grantaire. Maybe she just didn’t want to deal with them breaking down over more stupid shit after a whole day of work, which probably was also stupid shit. “Enjolras, I’m not trying to push you too fast, but we got new phones for both of you. You could text Combeferre and Courfeyrac if you’d like.” Grantaire took Enjolras’s hand of his own accord this time, and about one nanosecond elapse before Enjolras started plucking at his fingers. It hurt more than he was used to, now that Enjolras was much stronger, but it slowly took the edge off his own roiling insides.

“I’ll do it,” he said before he could talk himself out of it. He hoped Jehan would just give him his phone and then he could take Enjolras back to the bedroom and give him space to calm down. 

Enjolras looked up and suddenly stopped breaking all the bones in Grantaire’s hand. “If that’s what you’d like, R,” Jehan said before Enjolras could actually protest. They got up and went to their room and returned with a phone, protected by a case designed to look like paint splatters, and the charger. They set it carefully in front of Grantaire. “Phones have – they still make the same phone you had before, Grantaire, so we just got you the same one. I hope that’s alright. If you want to change it, we’d be happy to take you to the store to pick out something else.”

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s wrist before he could touch the phone. “Why can’t Grantaire just have his old phone if they’re the same?” He didn’t look up or raise his voice at all, but his suspicion had to be obvious to the whole planet. This required another of those looks between Jehan and Éponine. 

“Look,” Éponine began, brusque, “before we realized something was wrong and tracked your phones, there were a lot of texts and voicemails trying to find out what the fuck was going on. I’m sure Cosette thinks you should go through them all to remember how everything used to be, but we both think that’s a pretty shitty idea.”

“We just don’t want to overwhelm or confuse you,” Jehan clarified more softly.

“Yeah, and it’s easy for Cosette to make all these ‘great suggestions’ when she doesn’t have to actually, you know, implement them.” Éponine rolled her eyes. 

“Enjolras, Cosette did suggest exposure therapy might help with your fear of phones. If you feel that would helpful.”

“I can take care of it,” Grantaire said, again without thinking. He honestly said it just because he didn’t want Enjolras to be forced to do something that frightened him, but he didn’t really want Enjolras to think Grantaire was still terrified of him getting any kind of therapy. He was, that was totally true and irrefutable, but he didn’t mean to be so fucking obvious about it, still. Maybe his whole life would turn out be a bad scifi movie and his new phone would suck him into an alternate dimension.

“Alright,” Jehan relented easily, like they hadn’t expected much else. How low had they set the bar for the two of them? Maybe they were impressed they just managed to get out of bed each day. (And, for Grantaire, that was an accomplishment.) “R, we put everyone’s numbers in there for you. And you could of course talk to other people, if you’d like.” Grantaire did not like. The only person he really wanted to talk to was Enjolras. He wouldn’t really mind being Enjolras’s messenger boy (partly, very selfishly, because that would make it much harder for anyone to convince Enjolras to leave him, though a good “partner” would probably just do the right thing and suggest it themselves) but he couldn’t think of a single thing he’d want to say to a single other person. 

He picked up the phone. It felt both awkward and comfortable in his hands. It was probably muscle memory, though his brain had nothing helpful to add. He didn’t want to text on Enjolras’s behalf without having the message dictated to him, and he didn’t want to do that in front of other people. He put everything into the pouch of Enjolras’s hoodie. He wasn’t sure what to do next, but Enjolras quickly took his hand, to hold, not to twist, this time. He stood up quickly and said, “Good night,” before towing Grantaire away.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras blurted out as soon as he locked the door. His hands were shaking. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice also trembling now. “I – I wanted to be – normal. I don’t know why I just can’t.”

“Enjolras, it’s fine.” Enjolras clearly did not believe Grantaire, if the way he was frowning at the floor and turning bright red was any indication. Grantaire still wanted to crawl into the closet or lock himself in the bathroom, and he hated to see Enjolras so upset, but now he could try to make Enjolras happier. It was a lot harder now, since all of Enjolras’s basic needs were not only met but exceeded, but he could try. The hollow ache inside him didn’t disappear, but it felt a lot less important. It was hard to hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He took a step forward anyways and brushed their noses together, before softly kissing Enjolras when he tilted his head in response. He could hardly believe Enjolras let him do this, again and again.

Enjolras didn’t really smile when they separated, but he wasn’t frowning quite so much. Grantaire perched on the edge of the bed. He didn’t think he was ready to text lying down just yet, but he was too shaken to do it standing up. Enjolras gave him a look, but then sat next to him, their thighs touching. “Good?” Grantaire nodded because he wasn’t really sure it was good, but he was going to pretend as hard as he could. He had offered to sleep here after all, knowing well and good that would result in many nights of insomnia. It was a little easier now that his secret was out. For some reason, Enjolras still wasn’t too disgusted to sit next to him on a bed.

“What do you want me to say?” Grantaire asked before Enjolras could start a huge discussion about how they could cuddle somewhere else if it would make Grantaire more comfortable. 

“Oh.” Enjolras sat quietly for awhile. Apparently in all the…excitement he hadn’t given much thought to the actual words he wanted to use. This burrowed another hollow ache into Grantaire, though he couldn’t say exactly why. “Just that – I’m – glad they came,” he finished lamely.

Grantaire unlocked the phone and fumbled his way through to start a new text message. He had no idea if it would be better to text Dr. Combeferre or Master de Courfeyrac, so he made them both recipients. Showing favoritism without a clear goal seemed like a bad way to handle all the people now in their lives. He automatically tried to type with his thumbs, but all that did was create a mishmash of autocorrected words and real ones. If Mistress Fauchelevant (which he knew now was probably the wrong name if she had married Marius, but he was determined to not use titles out loud ever again since Enjolras had quit cold turkey, and it didn’t seem worth the effort to change what was ingrained so deeply in his mind) was so intent on therapy, sending unreadable text messages was probably a great way to expedite the process. He erased everything he had written and pecked it back out with a forefinger. Enjolras was kind enough to just sit quietly and not comment. Grantaire set the phone in his lap when he was done. 

He felt himself slowly tensing up as they waited for a response. Sometimes Master had delayed their punishments to make them crazy with terror and sick with worry before he even laid a finger on them. But he was usually much more of the immediate punishment school of thought, like they were children, or animals, that needed quick correction to understand why, exactly, they were being hurt. Or to be clear they were being hurt for no reason at all. Grantaire set the phone aside after a few minutes of radio silence. 

“We never asked about laundry,” Enjolras observed eventually. 

Grantaire could hear Jehan and Éponine still out in the open of the apartment. “I’ll go ask.” He got up and let himself out fast enough that Enjolras couldn’t argue. It was hard to do things like this to make Enjolras happy, harder than he had ever imagined anything could be hard. He hadn’t liked all the things Master had done to him, but Master had been nothing if not consistent. Grantaire might have had to beg or barter in certain situations, but he always knew he was trading his body for Enjolras, and that predictability was comforting in its own way, though, like many good things, he didn’t recognize it until it was gone. Even though he knew for a fact Jehan wanted them to have clean clothes to wear, asking for his clothes to be laundered was not exactly a skill he had practiced. He had assumed when he was stripped after being temporarily being allowed clothes that Enjolras had washed them with the rest of the laundry, but that was it.

Jehan was pouring tea in the kitchen, so Grantaire only had to awkwardly stand at the edge of the hallway for a few seconds before he was noticed. “R, is something wrong?” they asked immediately, looking around him, probably for Enjolras. Because they knew Grantaire couldn’t handle doing anything on his own. Grantaire bit the inside of his cheek. Maybe if he could demonstrate now that he was willing to do things for Enjolras, there would be more opportunities. His cheek had started to heal and it was particularly tender as he started to gnaw on it again. (And it felt oh so good when the first trickle of blood stung his tongue.) 

“I need to do the laundry,” he told the floor as submissively as he could. He hoped by immediately taking responsibility for it, Jehan wouldn’t see it as an unreasonable request.

“Oh, of course. But you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, R. Our laundry room is downstairs, and there’s always other tenants going in and out. I don’t want to stress you out like that. And you really should be resting as much as possible.” 

“I can start it tonight,” Éponine offered, very gallantly, considering how she was currently sprawled over the sofa staring at her phone. 

“Do you want me to come get it?” Jehan asked.

“No!” Grantaire yelped before his brain could catch up with his mouth. Why the fuck had he said that – now Jehan would be suspicious and want to investigate, or at least question him. And why the fuck had he gotten so loud – now Enjolras had made an appearance and put an arm around him. Grantaire barely kept himself from sprinting to the bathroom. He couldn’t do even simple things for Enjolras anymore. Which meant he was entirely, completely, utterly useless. Which meant eventually (and that eventually would probably be sooner rather than later) there would be no more kissing and no more cuddling and no more quiet talking and no more pretending Grantaire was someone Enjolras wanted to be with. Fuck it.

He twisted out of Enjolras’s loose grip and hurried to the bathroom. Enjolras must have been expecting something like that and caught him easily outside the door. He managed to coax Grantaire most of the way into the bedroom by the time Jehan followed them. The door was wide open. Grantaire wondered with slowly growing horror if Jehan noticed the backwards desk first, or the bed that clearly never been slept in. This whole thing had been a stupid idea. He was good at physically submitting for Enjolras’s benefit. He should never have tricked himself into believing he could do anything else. Jehan said nothing, and Grantaire waited, too nervous to stop himself from trembling. Enjolras must be similarly paralyzed, since he hadn’t dragged Grantaire inside and locked the door. 

“R, Enjolras, was your room not the way you wanted it?” Grantaire glanced up to see Jehan on the verge of tears.

Éponine came down the hall. “Jehan, it’s alright. I can take care of this. Don’t worry.” She was much gentler than usual, but still firm. Jehan obeyed and walked slowly away.

“OK, tell me what exactly is wrong so I can fix it,” she ordered.

“The bed and the desk,” Enjolras answered quickly, automatically. It was far too late to hide what was happening. 

“Fine. I’m guessing you’re not using the desk at all?” She tilted her head to look at it. 

Enjolras shook his head.

“OK. I’ll make it disappear tomorrow when you’re gone. Do you want anything to replace it?”

Enjolras glanced at Grantaire, who just shrugged, and then shook his head again. 

“Alright.” She tilted her head some more. “Where are you sleeping? The floor?”

What must she think? Everyone seemed to be of the mind that they had rescued the two of them. They probably couldn’t comprehend why they would still choose to sleep on the floor instead of a soft bed. Or maybe they knew about Grantaire and had pretty excellent ideas as to why he didn’t want to sleep in a bed. This would only be more ammunition to separate him from Enjolras. “We’ll stop,” Grantaire heard himself promise, even though he had no idea how to keep it. Enjolras had no weird hang-ups and he shouldn’t lose his access to a bed because of Grantaire. 

“No, I should’ve been clear. I don’t really give a shit what you’re doing, as long as you’re happy. You could be sleeping standing up for all I care. I can have Bahorel bring some sleeping pads to put down. Do you want the bed to stay or to go?”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire for a response. Grantaire felt like a giant, neon “I’m Fucked Up” sign had been illuminated above his head. As bed-averse as he was, he wasn’t really afraid anyone was going to force him onto it, for any reason. And it was a nice barrier when they slept on the other side. He would probably end up feeling more unsettled if they were forced to sleep in plain view of the door. “It’s fine,” he mumbled, but Enjolras must have understood, or at least sort of, because he nodded in agreement instead of arguing. 

“Good,” Éponine said, the matter now settled. She softened a little. “I don’t blame you for not telling us something was wrong. I wouldn’t want to tell me something was wrong, either, if I were you. But I promise we’re never going to be mad at you. There’s some limits to what we can do, so neither of you are getting a pony anytime soon, but we’ll try our best.” She paused and continued a little more slowly. “R, maybe it will sound, I don’t know, silly or condescending, and I honestly don’t mean it that way, but if you want to text me, or Jehan, or anyone, if you need something, that’s fine. I’m sure it must feel safer to send a text from a locked room than come talk to us.”

“OK,” Grantaire mumbled when Éponine waited for a response. 

“Alright. Good night, then.” She nodded and left, probably to comfort Jehan. 

Enjolras actually led Grantaire into the room this time and locked them in again. Grantaire wanted to run to the closet, but it wasn’t like Enjolras couldn’t find him there. He sat back on the bed, bracing himself for a lecture or admonishment or rejection. The motion jostled his phone enough that the screen lit up with messages but he felt too sick to look. Enjolras came and stood in front of Grantaire for a moment and then sat down next to him again, close enough to touch. He took Grantaire’s hand. 

“Grantaire?” he asked softly. “Will you please tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Grantaire said quickly, too quickly. Not that Enjolras would have ever believed him.

“Grantaire, you were going to – hurt yourself, weren’t you?”

“Sorry.” Grantaire couldn’t deny it. He didn’t know what else to do but apologize.

“Oh, Grantaire.” Enjolras kissed the top of his head. “Was it because of – did I trigger you earlier? I didn’t mean to.”

“No, not – not really.” His phone buzzed against his leg. He was too terrified to look down. He could just imagine Dr. Combeferre texting something nice and polite like, “Please remove yourself from my friend’s presence immediately. Thank you.” He fought down the urge to vomit. 

“Then what is it?” Enjolras probed.

“I just-” Grantaire paused to wipe angrily at his eyes. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” That barely scratched the surface of what he felt, but he didn’t know how to put it into words. 

“I don’t know either,” Enjolras said, quiet, like he was ashamed. Grantaire laughed then. He hadn’t really expected to ever not be with Master, but he would never have thought getting away, emotionally, not just physically, would be so hard. Enjolras laughed then too, though he still sounded uncertain. His phone buzzed again and this time Grantaire looked at it. He felt braver when Enjolras rested his head against his. 

The two most recent messages were from Dr. Combeferre, who had merely said he had enjoyed the visit and hoped Enjolras liked his books, and Master de Courfeyrac, who expressed what Grantaire thought was a similar sentiment, though it was a little hard to tell since it had more emojis than words. He summarized this for Enjolras, who only hummed in reply. It must be a lot for him to process. Grantaire took the time to look at the older messages, the ones he had first seen. There was one from Mistress Musichetta and one from Master Lesgle. Both said they had heard Grantaire had gotten his phone and they were there if he wanted to talk, but no pressure if he didn’t. He was mostly unsettled at the suggestion, but again he had the urge to cry without really knowing why.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras asked, full of concern, though Grantaire had barely moved and certainly hadn’t said anything. 

“I-” Grantaire turned the phone enough that Enjolras could take a very quick look at it before turning away. “They said I can talk to them if I want.”

“Éponine must have told them,” was Enjolras’s first observation. Then, “It’s alright if you don’t know what to do, Grantaire. I can’t really think of anything else to say to Combeferre and Courfeyrac. I know it’s – hard.” That was probably Enjolras’s way of acknowledging Grantaire still couldn’t remember anything. “Why don’t we go to sleep?” Enjolras suggested. At least that Grantaire knew how to do, even if it was a recent development.

Grantaire found an outlet next to one of the nightstands and plugged his phone in before silencing it. Those tasks felt familiar but also foreign. He took one last look at the texts actually meant for him. Then he locked the phone and let Enjolras spoon him on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For phone references, I looked up what had just come out in 2013 and saw the iPhone 5 on the list, which is what I got recently (It actually fits in my pocket! Why is that so hard to find?!) so that's where I was going with Grantaire's phone. I also had a good laugh because it reminded of the big fad of HTC phones with the tiles. It's sort of scary to remember what was trendy just four years ago....
> 
> Also, chapters are probably going to be just once a week for awhile now, since I have decided to sign up for All The Events and the return of sportsball.


	50. Chapter Fifty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fifty chapters. What am I even doing with my life. I have no idea.
> 
> \--A more explicit (but brief) discussion of Grantaire's suicide attempt in this chapter--

The first thing Enjolras decided when he woke up was he was going to act like a normal person for the whole day. If Grantaire could talk to the police without shattering into pieces, when he had suffered so much worse, Enjolras could do it too. And since Grantaire was going to sit with him the whole time, even though he clearly did not want to, Enjolras thought one of the best ways to honor that would be by holding himself together. If he grew too distressed, Grantaire would undoubtedly try to comfort him; that was a soothing thought, but he didn’t want to ask more of Grantaire than he was already giving. 

He slid down a little and turned his head so that he could hear Grantaire’s heartbeat faintly through his back. Enjolras stared at the ceiling and tried to remind himself of the important things: Grantaire was alive, Grantaire was not just next to him but pressed snugly against him, no one was going to hurt Grantaire, Master was locked up and could not just appear to punish them, and Grantaire was alive. He ran through the list several more times. 

Time was not going to suddenly flow backwards. He had saved Grantaire. He was not going to suddenly find himself locked in the bathroom again, trying desperately to remember his first aid training, blood slicking his hands and the towels and the floor and the bathtub and - 

He made himself take several deep breaths. Grantaire was alive. Grantaire was safe. Enjolras had saved him. He hoped he would never be put into a position where he had to do it again, but even if he were, he was not going to have to relive that exact same scenario. Master was never going to lock him in any bathroom ever again, alone and stressed and terrified. Talking about what had happened was not going to make it happen again. He could do this. He could answer questions about what had happened without panicking that it was going to happen all over again and that he might forget what he had done before and make the wrong choices and it would be all his fault Grantaire bled to death on Master’s bathroom floor - 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire whispered, tentative in a way Enjolras wasn’t accustomed to but that he couldn’t describe either.

“Sorry,” he whispered back. He realized he had been close to hyperventilating; his resolution was not going according to plan, and he had only just opened his eyes. He vowed to be normal for the rest of the day, starting now. 

“I’m going to be there with you,” said Grantaire, sounding almost…relieved. Enjolras blinked rapidly as he processed this. Grantaire was still quite an enigma to him, and he was genuinely taken aback that Grantaire’s reaction to a stressed, unhappy partner was to feel relief instead of concern or self-loathing. This was, after all, the same man whose response to Enjolras’s attempt to be effusive with his public declarations of love and devotion was to try to hide and hurt himself. Enjolras felt a terrible responsibility for having done something so clearly wrong, even if he didn’t understand what it exactly was. But no matter the reason, Grantaire’s current behavior deviated quite a bit from that of the night before.

“Did I have another night terror?” he asked so softly that he thought Grantaire hadn’t heard the question. 

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire finally said, also very quietly. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Grantaire.” Enjolras tried to calm himself by listening to Grantaire’s heartbeat again but his thoughts were too loud and drowned it out. “What did – what did I do?” He hoped he had not caused such a terrible disturbance again that the police were called and Grantaire was left, for all intents and purposes, alone with that particular terror.

“You didn’t leave the room. You just sort of, I don’t know, roamed around. I tried to talk to you, but you just said the same unintelligible thing no matter what. Eventually you just sort of…gave up. Maybe that’s not the right way to phrase it, since I don’t know what you were trying to accomplish. I just mean you sort of stood still for awhile and then let me take you back to bed.” Grantaire flinched. “Sorry, not like that, I didn’t mean-”  
“Grantaire, please. I understand what you mean. Don’t worry.” He turned to kiss the back of Grantaire’s neck, which made Grantaire shiver, and Enjolras wondered if he should’ve kissed his back or head instead. “I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep.”

“You didn’t,” Grantaire assured him, quickly enough Enjolras wondered if Grantaire meant he hadn’t minded being woken up, or that he had already been awake because he couldn’t sleep. With Grantaire, it could easily be either one. 

“Did they hear?” Enjolras asked before he could stop himself. He wished he could take it back. He was supposed to be normal today and demonstrate to Grantaire that he appreciated his sacrifice. If he was going to have sleep-walk and have nightmares like a child, he was already behind on the being normal part; that didn’t mean he shouldn’t still focus on letting Grantaire know how wonderful and special he was for being so loving and supportive, even as his partner wandered around aimlessly and spouted literal nonsense in the middle of the night. Enjolras should have tried to say something to that effect instead of his first worry being whether Jehan and Éponine knew. It wasn’t like it would even be some ground-breaking revelation for either of them.

“I don’t know.” Grantaire paused. “They could have heard you – talking, but that doesn’t mean they know you had gotten up. They might just assume you were just talking in your sleep. If they heard anything at all.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras said again. He couldn’t think of anyone he had liked as an adult the way he liked Grantaire now, but he almost wished there had been someone, if only so he could’ve practiced this a little. He felt like he was taking a final exam for class he hadn’t even known he was enrolled in. And that Grantaire had the study guide but instead of sharing, he just assumed Enjolras didn’t need it. 

“I’m going to go shower,” Grantaire finally said. Enjolras gave him a terribly inadequate squeeze before releasing him but he didn’t know what else to do. His own shower didn’t give him any brilliant ideas either. Nor did breakfast, especially under Jehan’s concerned gaze, which might mean they were counting down to the moment Enjolras imploded and they had to deal with whatever scene he caused. Or that they knew he had had another night terror and couldn’t even be trusted to sleep like a normal person. Enjolras had been too afraid to put his chair close to Grantaire’s this time, in case it triggered Grantaire’s deep unhappiness again, so he settled for touching their feet together under the table, which made Grantaire jump and then smile ever so slightly.

Jehan was just clearing the table when Bahorel knocked on the door. Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand and reminded himself to be normal. He was making Grantaire suffer, he was inconveniencing his friends – he could make it as painless as possible for everyone involved by just behaving normally. Bahorel entered carrying an overstuffed duffel bag. “Good morning. A whole shitload of sleeping pads, as requested. It appears no one wants to go camping this time of year, so I was able to borrow a whole bunch.” He dropped the bag onto the table in front of Enjolras and Grantaire.

“Here we go, quick lesson.” He pulled the end of one sleeping pad out and opened the nozzle in one corner. “They should self-inflate, for the most part. If you arrange them before we leave and open them all up, they should be all set by the time we get back. You might want to give them a couple of breaths each though, just to top them off, before you seal them. If any of them don’t inflate, that means there’s a leak. Those are a massive pain in the ass to find, so you can just give those back to me and I’ll deal with them.”

It felt like a lot of information at once, even though Enjolras knew it really wasn’t. The whole idea that they should put something else on the floor to make it more comfortable, when they already had more blankets than they could ever need, was strange, but if this would make Jehan feel better and keep them from trying to get their friends to use the actual bed, it would be worth it. He would lay them out as instructed, because normal people could follow simple instructions, and then they would go to the police station and he would answer their questions, because normal people could also answer simple questions.

He carried the bag to their bedroom and started pulling out the sleeping pads as Grantaire rolled all their bedding down to expose the floor. After Grantaire had laid the pads out in a rough alignment, Enjolras paused and looked in the bag to see how many more there were. His eye caught on a roll of duct tape that had previously been trapped in a corner of the bag, only having just rolled into view. For approximately three seconds he managed to understand it must be there to bind the sleeping pads together, so that the slippery synthetic material wouldn’t just slid out from under them while they slept. This was a good, normal thought that a good, normal person would have.

By the fourth second, he was bodily hauling Grantaire to the kitchen. He needed to find a pair of scissors so he could free himself and then stop Grantaire from dying. It didn’t seem to make a lot of sense why his hands and feet were unbound and Grantaire was with him, but all of that seemed somehow irrelevant. He felt like the world was both too loud and too quiet and he could hear Jehan and Bahorel in the background and the chaotic crashing of the kitchen drawers as he pawed through them but he couldn’t hear anything either. He felt like he did when he brought Grantaire to the hospital – but that didn’t make sense because he couldn’t have taken Grantaire to the hospital with pneumonia until after he saved Grantaire from bleeding out and he hadn’t done that yet but he was still holding Grantaire with one hand and while he looked a little pale it wasn’t deathly and he was standing up and looked alert which was good but wasn’t right either. Maybe he had already saved Grantaire? But why couldn’t he remember something so fucking important? The last time he had forgotten something, it hadn’t just been something, it had been everything and he had been supposed to remember but he thought he could still remember now and that meant - 

Bahorel was firmly but gently holding his wrists in one hand and wrenching the kitchen scissors free from Enjolras’s grasp with the other. He looked down and saw he had cut his hand. He looked up to find Grantaire watching him with huge, wet eyes. Jehan was hovering just outside the kitchen, phone in hand, still lit up with an active call. It was like coming up for air. None of that had been real; it had all been in his head. 

He sunk to the floor and began to weep, and to wish he could die. He was just supposed to tape some sleeping pads together that his friend gone out of his way to bring him. He could’ve asked Grantaire to do it, if he were that uncomfortable with it. But no, instead of doing either of those reasonable things, he had become convinced he was reliving his worst memory again. It was bad enough when he had done this in the hospital – why was it happening it again? He wished he could just be left alone forever to contemplate what a terrible person he was, but instead Grantaire was there, holding him and pressing a towel to his hand. It didn’t really hurt, and Enjolras didn’t know if it was the adrenaline or if the cut was just shallow.

“Sorry,” he managed when he pulled himself together enough to look at Grantaire. He couldn’t even imagine what he looked like: eyes red and face blotchy from crying, arm askew so Grantaire could get to it, body folded against the cabinets where he had all but fallen. He realized Grantaire had probably seen him like this many times before – every time Master had brought him back and Enjolras had collapsed with exhaustion and let tears wash away his growing panic when he could finally see nothing horrible had happened to Grantaire while he was helpless. There was no reason to keep acting like this, not after he had worked so hard to remind himself nothing bad would happen.

“Why do you want to be with me?” he whispered. He knew Grantaire wasn’t going to take that question as an opportunity to leave, but he almost expected his partner to do it anyway. 

Grantaire looked at him like he was stupid, but in a way that made Enjolras feel oddly…better instead of worse. “Because I love you.” Grantaire stared at him again and then leaned forward to kiss Enjolras’s forehead. That made him feel even better, warmer and safer, even as Grantaire blushed and tried to cover it up by fussing with his partner’s hand. Enjolras could see now he had only scratched himself – it probably wouldn’t even need a band-aid. 

“Enjolras, Ferre is going to be here in a little bit, alright?” Jehan had come into the kitchen a few steps to get his and Grantaire’s attention.

“But – we were supposed to – the police-”

“Bahorel is calling them to reschedule. We’ll go a different day.” 

“No. It was supposed to be today.” Enjolras could hear himself getting louder but he couldn’t help it. He had gone through all of this terror, and nothing was going to come of it. He didn’t want to do it all again another day.

“I know, Enjolras,” Jehan soothed. “I know. But Ferre said it’s more important for you to rest.”

“Then why is he coming over?” Enjolras reached for Grantaire’s hoodie sleeve. Was he going to be punished after all? Would they send him to the hospital? What if they forcibly admitted him to the psych ward for being so abnormal? Grantaire probably wouldn’t be allowed there. And then he would never be well enough to leave. He was starting to hyperventilate again.

“Enjolras, it’s alright, I promise. Ferre just wants to help you not be so scared. Nothing bad is going to happen. Grantaire can stay with you the whole time.” Grantaire had looked away as Jehan spoke. Enjolras was tempted to kiss him right now, right in front of Jehan, to show Grantaire just how much he loved him, but that hadn’t seemed to be what Grantaire wanted the night before. Enjolras settled for taking his hand and squeezing it a few times. 

Jehan watched them a little longer and then retreated. Enjolras assumed they were still very close by. He settled against Grantaire and tried to focus on his heartbeat and his warmth and his touch until he felt a little more grounded. “I’m sorry,” he said again, inadequate and repetitive. Grantaire hushed him but said nothing. Enjolras had to try again. He didn’t know what he was doing, but what he already tried wasn’t working.

“No, Grantaire, I am sorry. That – incident was really hard for you too. My…episodes have to be really hard for you.” He wavered, unsure if continuing would help or hurt. “Grantaire, you despaired that I would ever want to be near you again and I’m forcing you to relive it. And you’ve never complained. I just – I appreciate – it means a lot to me.”

“What do you mean, episodes?” Grantaire sounded as suspicious as Enjolras had felt when he heard Combeferre was coming.

“I - the, the flashbacks,” Enjolras mumbled. Naming it made it real, too real. 

“No, I know that. I meant that you’ve had more than one?”

Enjolras wanted to curl up and he did a little, before he could stop himself, but Grantaire still held him. “In the – in the hospital. I had one. I thought you were – Combeferre was there and thought he was refusing to help. I’m sorry, you were asleep.”

“Enjolras, I hate to break this to you, but I can’t generally remember things that happen while I’m asleep.”

“Do you-” Enjolras broke off, wondering if this was a minefield worth treading on, but he decided it would be better to try to discuss this now than in front of Combeferre. “How much do you remember?”

Grantaire flinched, but he did not run away, like Enjolras had half-expected. Enjolras turned his head awkwardly to kiss Grantaire’s collarbone and then forced himself to sit very still and quiet and wait. “Not a lot. I think I have some memories of – while I was recovering, but it’s all confused. I don’t know how much of it is actually real. It’s like when – when I was sedated. Like, I think I have a few memories from then, but I know a lot of what I think I remember isn’t true. You weren’t – gone.” Enjolras wondered if Grantaire left the “that time” unsaid out of politeness.

Enjolras also wondered whether he should press his partner further when Grantaire said, a little louder and stronger than his previous words, “I just remember that I thought you were gone forever, and you might be dead, and I had helped you do it, so either way it was all my fault, and I just wanted to die. Not just – I don’t mean I just wanted to kill myself. I mean I literally just wanted to be dead so I never had to feel that way again. I couldn’t keep feeling that way. And then you were there and I thought it had all been a bad dream and you loved me and then it wasn’t a dream and-”

“Grantaire, I do love you!” Enjolras shifted so that he could sit up and hold Grantaire in turn. He didn’t miss the way Grantaire withdrew in on himself in the moment when Enjolras had pulled away but not yet pulled Grantaire back to him. “Grantaire, I love you. I’m sorry I made you – despair like that. And I’m sorry I made you have to think about all that again.”

Grantaire was quiet again for some time. He finally asked, “What does it feel like?”

Enjolras forced himself to take several deep breaths. “I don’t know how to describe it. I know it’s not real, but at the same time it feels as real as anything else. It’s a little like a dream, I suppose, when something happens you know doesn’t make sense except you know there are different rules so you shouldn’t question it anyway. I just – it’s like it’s all happening again, and I worry that this time will – end differently.”

“If Combeferre suggests therapy, again, you should do it.” Grantaire shivered a little. “It helps. I shouldn’t hold you back from feeling better.”

“Grantaire, can you – if you think it helps, why are you afraid?”

“That is why I’m afraid.” Grantaire was now speaking so quietly Enjolras had to concentrate to hear everything clearly. Grantaire shivered again, much longer this time before he managed to stop. “It’s so fucking selfish. I want you to be better, but then you won’t – you won’t – won’t need me.” Enjolras almost wished Grantaire would cry, because this tone of pain and despair was worse than anything else he had ever heard. Was this what Grantaire had felt when he wanted to die?

“Grantaire-”

“No, Enjolras, please. Please listen. It’s not – it’s not right for me to fucking hold you hostage because I can’t deal with my own shit. You’re allowed to have therapy so you’re not so scared all the time that you’ll bear the responsibility of my death. I wanted to die; I didn’t want to be able to be saved. It wouldn’t have been your fault. And you’re allowed to leave me whenever you want. You should be able to have a life and happiness without having to drag my sorry ass around everywhere you go. I’m sure Dr. – I’m sure they would let you stay with them. Or I can leave. I can go to a shelter or something. I’ll be-”

“Grantaire, stop.” Enjolras held his partner as tightly as he could while he took several more deep breaths. “Grantaire, I love you. I don’t just…keep you around because I’m scared. I am scared. I am so scared something will happen to you. But I would still love you the same even if I weren’t scared. It would be…I don’t want to say easier, but it would be even better if I could love you without constantly worrying something awful was going to happen, when I already know it won’t. And I’m certainly not leaving you, let alone sending you away to live in a homeless shelter.”

Grantaire didn’t respond, and Enjolras tried his best to let it be. The whole world could have tried to tell him his flashback was all in his head, wasn’t real, and he wouldn’t have been able to believe them. If Grantaire believed just as deeply that Enjolras didn’t love him or would leave him, it wouldn’t be enough for Enjolras to just repeatedly declare his affection. It probably helped, but it couldn’t make Grantaire feel all better. But if Grantaire could be so patient with his anxiety and panic attacks and flashbacks, he could be patient with Grantaire’s depression and self-doubt and self-deprecation.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when there was a knock at the door. It must be Combeferre. Enjolras staggered to his feet and somehow got himself and Grantaire settled on the couch before Combeferre had gotten his coat off. He would seem more normal sitting on the sofa instead of the kitchen floor. Grantaire had removed his comforter in their room and hadn’t had a chance to retrieve it, but Enjolras thought leaving Grantaire would be worse than just holding him close. Bahorel had pulled out a chair for Combeferre, but he and Jehan quickly withdrew to Jehan’s room. Jehan must trust Combeferre had enough training to handle whatever might happen.

“Hello, Enjolras. Hello, Grantaire,” Combeferre said, perfectly calm, like he hadn’t been summoned for yet another Enjolras Emergency. Neither of them answered. Enjolras knew he should say hello back, that that would be the normal response, but it seemed like so much effort. “Enjolras, Jehan said you were having another flashback. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said so fast he almost cut Combeferre off. And then, “I’m fine. I’m not – I don’t need to be sent away.”

Combeferre adjusted his glasses very slowly. “Enjolras, no one is sending anyone away. You only hurt yourself on accident, and only a little. You’re not a real danger to yourself, or others. Nothing indicates you need to go to the hospital.” Enjolras was surprised just how much hearing that relaxed him. Combeferre did not think he was that level of disturbed. 

There was another pause, and Enjolras couldn’t resist the pressure to say, “Thank you,” even as he felt it was a rather inappropriate response. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, Enjolras, but there’s no need to thank me. There’s no need for me recommend a hospital stay. What I do want to recommend is medication. I know we gave you something in the hospital for when you felt very anxious, but I think if your traumatic memories are bothering you this consistently and to this degree, a daily anti-depressant would be very helpful. It’s not going to work right away, but over time it should help. If it doesn’t, we can switch you to something else.”

“But I’m not depressed,” Enjolras blurted out. He didn’t know the exact clinical criteria for diagnosing depression, but he imagined they would line up much more with how Grantaire felt, not him.

“I know. I guess it does sound strange, but an anti-depressant does the right things to your brain chemistry to help with PTSD, too.” Enjolras didn’t like naming that either. 

“Alright.” It was hard to understand why Combeferre had been dragged away from his day to prescribe Enjolras something that wouldn’t even make a difference for several weeks, but taking it would hardly be difficult. And if he didn’t like it, Combeferre had said it would be alright to change to something else. He could handle it.

Combeferre adjusted his glasses again and Grantaire tensed up. “Enjolras, I have to be honest with you. The medication will help, but you’re not going to be able to get completely better without therapy.” Grantaire had, of course, been right. Of course he had. “I know you are reluctant to try it, but I wanted to suggest exposure therapy. Ideally you would do it with a trained professional, but I think you could try it on your own, if you’re disciplined enough. The first step would be to think about your exact fear until you stopped being afraid. It could take a long time to feel comfortable with that, but there’s no need to rush.”

“I could lie,” Enjolras pointed out. Why did he decide to point that out? He couldn’t even begin to fathom what Master would have done if Enjolras had so much as suggested that he could theoretically propose that he could possibly lie. “You wouldn’t know if I actually thought about it.” Grantaire made a pained sound and made a decent effort at collapsing in on himself. Oh fuck. Fucking shit. Enjolras had stopped thinking about what he was saying and of course that had resulted in saying something extremely hurtful to his partner. In front of someone else, no less. And he hadn’t meant that way at all. He was just, very stupidly, trying to point out that he didn’t have to listen to Combeferre, as if that gave him any real control over his life.

“Enjolras, I’m not trying to be cruel, but I think it would be very obvious if you complied or not. I’m certainly not going to force you to do it, but I could manipulate you into it if that’s what I really wanted. Not to be too extreme, but if I told you that you could only be around Grantaire if you obeyed, would you really feel like you could do anything else?”

“No,” Enjolras said and squeezed Grantaire. He was glad Combeferre had tried to save the situation in the ways he still couldn’t. He swore to himself he would apologize to Grantaire and assure him he wasn’t upset with him for fantasizing about him under duress. It would undoubtedly take a lot more to make up for it, but it was a start. He pulled Grantaire even closer. “Would it – would it really work?” He already thought plenty about what had happened and it just made him feel more anxious.

“Yes, it really works. The key is you’re going to have to keep thinking about it until it stops being frightening. You can’t stop part-way. It will probably take a long time until you can consistently think about it without feeling afraid. That’s normal. Patience is key.” He paused. “I know it will be very difficult, but I’m sure Grantaire will be happy to support you.” Enjolras hoped that made Grantaire feel better; it just made him feel worse that Combeferre knew all the right things to say to someone that wasn’t even his own partner. 

Enjolras didn’t want to agree. He didn’t want to have to spend time every day thinking about Grantaire coming so close to death. But he spent so much time thinking about it, or adjacent thoughts, that making it intentional couldn’t really be any worse. “Alright,” he finally said. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Enjolras. Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll call in your prescription and ask Éponine to pick it up on her way home.” 

Enjolras shuffled away with Grantaire, dreading finding out just how awful he had made Grantaire feel. But he didn’t dawdle, because he deserved to know just how bad it was. “Fuck, Grantaire, I’m so sorry,” he said as soon as he locked their door. He felt like he should offer to leave or sleep somewhere else, but even he knew that was a bad idea.

Grantaire stared at the ground for a minute before picking up his comforter where he had dropped it, wrapped it around himself, and crawled into the closet. Enjolras decided to follow him, though as soon as Grantaire noticed him, his partner pulled his head into the blanket. “Grantaire, I’m really sorry. I should’ve thought about what I was going to say, but I was so stupid and I didn’t. Please let me make it up to you?” Grantaire didn’t move or reply, even though Enjolras waited a very long time. Enjolras resisted the urge to sigh. “Grantaire, I’m just going to fix our nest so we can go to sleep.”

The sleeping pads had inflated just as Bahorel promised. Enjolras blew into each one and closed them. He stared at the duffel bag for a long time when he was done, afraid to get out the duct tape. Grantaire suddenly emerged, head now exposed, though he kept his eyes steadfastly averted. Enjolras clapped his hands over his ears and turned away until Grantaire ever so briefly touched his shoulder. 

He guided Grantaire to lay down next to him. He was surprised at how much more comfortable it was now that there was more cushion between him and the floor. He tried to get Grantaire to face him, but his partner squirmed as soon as he realized what Enjolras was doing and violently turned away. “Grantaire, I love you. I promise. Nothing that happened was your fault. You were so brave.”

“I’m not brave,” Grantaire snapped, and Enjolras almost jumped in surprise that that was what got Grantaire to respond. “Getting off thinking about you isn’t brave. It’s fucking pathetic.”

“It was brave, Grantaire. You suffered through something you didn’t want to do to save me.”

“But those weren’t the only times. When Master made me, it wasn’t the first time I had done that. It wasn’t some novel experience. I know it wasn’t.”

“Grantaire, it’s perfectly normal to fantasize about the people you like. I don’t mind. I’m not angry or upset or sad.” He dared to lean forward to kiss the back of Grantaire’s head. “Please come here, Grantaire? You don’t have to sleep by yourself. I don’t want you to.”

Grantaire reluctantly inched backwards until he was next to Enjolras. Enjolras slid his hood away enough to play with his curls, which he did until Grantaire fell into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another shout-out to Dr. Google on this chapter. Most everyone seemed to recommend exposure therapy should only happen with a trained professional, but I found a few sites explaining how to DIY, which seemed like a good compromise for poor E/R.


	51. Chapter Fifty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from Jehan's perspective! And a time jump! I don't even know who I am.
> 
> I may have taken a few slight medical liberties, but I tried to stay accurate. More explanation at the end.

Jehan settled into the sofa with a mug of tea. They were glad no one else was yet awake so they could have time to sit in quiet contemplation. Grantaire and Enjolras’s STD tests were scheduled for later in the morning, and they still hadn't decided how to broach the subject. Combeferre had explained it to two of them weeks ago, but Jehan wasn't convinced either remembered, or that if they did, that they knew to expect it soon. 

There had been a debate as to how soon they should remind Enjolras and Grantaire, and everyone had all eventually agreed telling them before the actual day would be counterproductive. After all, Bahorel had thought giving Enjolras an extra day to rest after his flashback before speaking with the police would be helpful, but it had only resulted in drawn-out panic attack that left Grantaire looking after Enjolras as he wept and retched in the bathroom. That had seemed to just make Enjolras more terrified, though he clung to Grantaire whenever Jehan went to check on them. 

This hospital visit was going to be much more stressful for Grantaire than Enjolras, but R having more time to think about how he might be sick from rape, and how Enjolras might be sick as well, was not going to help either. Jehan had been unsure about exercising so much control over the flow of information, but they wanted to give their friends as much happiness as they could. Both of them needed so much love and comfort to heal, and peace of mind was one way of providing that. If either of them eventually disagreed with Jehan’s choices, they were prepared to accept the criticism. That still left them with their original question. 

Their days together had settled into a routine, once the police had concluded their interviews. Grantaire and Enjolras would wake up close to sunrise, shower, and come out for breakfast. Sometimes Jehan already knew if Enjolras had had a night terror or Grantaire had had a nightmare, depending on how loud they had been, but sometimes they found out when one or the other studiously avoided eye contact as their first act of the day. Jehan tried to behave exactly the same way no matter what the case was. The last thing Jehan wanted was for either of them to feel ashamed of what happened while they slept. As bad as their sleep situation was, developing insomnia would only make things worse. 

After eating, Jehan would give Enjolras his anti-depressant. That was another thing they had been wary of doing for him, but Combeferre, and Joly had emphasized how important it was that Enjolras take it every day, at exactly the same time. Jehan worried Enjolras would simply forget, whether altogether or just for some period of time, or use his compliance as a bargaining chip. They wouldn't mind if Enjolras tried to push back, and they thought such a thing would be healthy, but they didn't want him gambling with his health. For his part, Enjolras had accepted the arrangement without complaint, though Jehan suspected it had something to do with it allowing them to keep the pills in their room and out of Grantaire’s reach. 

Grantaire had said nothing about it, though he still almost never spoke to anyone that wasn’t named Enjolras. For his part, R had grown some scraggly stubble but hadn’t yet asked to shave. It could be as simple as him wanting to look like he had before any of this had happened, but since it wasn't growing in evenly and would probably need a few shaves to clean it up, Jehan suspected Grantaire was afraid to ask for a razor, because he knew it would probably need to be kept in a safe place and only given to him with a chaperone present. Which was all true, so Jehan was at a loss of how to address it. They had prepared themselves for Enjolras to ask about it without any preamble and was a little surprised it hadn’t happened yet. They wished they could all celebrate Grantaire hitting a milestone in his recovery, since Combeferre and Joly had assured him the return of facial hair meant R had put on enough weight and kept it on for long enough that his hormone levels were balancing back out, but they couldn't. 

On a normal day, after breakfast, Jehan would then take their friends for a walk. They had both built up enough strength to go down and then up the stairs with three laps of the block in between without too much of a struggle. On weekends, Enjolras was content to walk arm-in-arm with Grantaire, uncovered hands tucked cozily in his pockets. But on weekdays, when the streets were far more crowded, though a lack of media coverage of their case due to a dearth of new information meant no one gave them a first glance, let alone a second one, Enjolras insisted on clutching Grantaire much more tightly. Jehan had stayed up late after the first disastrous day to knit Enjolras a muffler, in a shade of red to match his own winter coat, which was now warm enough for him to wear, so that Enjolras didn't have to spend another afternoon warming his hands under the sink while Grantaire fretted. Enjolras had taken it cautiously but once he saw his hands would still be free inside it, he began to use it without argument. 

After their walk, Jehan would work in the kitchen while Grantaire and Enjolras watched some Netflix. They weren't really sure what had compelled them to do this, since sometimes as soon as their episode or short movie had ended, the two of them bolted back their room, but Jehan genuinely enjoyed spending this time with their friends, even if they were doing separate things. Enjolras and Grantaire had been able to stay awake more and more, which was another positive sign. Enjolras had only dozed off twice, and both times he had jolted awake and grabbed automatically for Grantaire while watching Jehan. All they could do was smile and reassure him it was alright to sleep on the couch and nothing would happen to either of them. 

Grantaire fell asleep more often, curled up against Enjolras’s side. Sometimes he re-wrapped his comforter around his partner, and other times he kept clutched just around himself. Enjolras would check on him at regular intervals, and those times were some of the very few they saw Enjolras look remotely close to happy. 

And, sometimes, Grantaire only pretended to fall asleep. If Jehan hadn't known him so well, they probably wouldn't even have been able to tell, the difference in body language was so subtle. But it wasn’t too subtle for Enjolras. He usually waited almost five minutes exactly, even though he didn't consult the clock, a talent that impressed Jehan but somehow didn't surprise them, and then Enjolras would start to play with Grantaire’s short curls or slowly move his hand to rub his shoulders and neck underneath the comforter. He was very careful to never look at R as did this, though sometimes he would look sideways at Jehan for a reaction, which they tried to make sure was always a comforting smile. Enjolras would often blush and look away quickly, but on occasion there was a defiant spark as if he thought this behavior violated some rule. Either way, he would taper the affection off about ten minutes before whatever he was watching ended, so that Grantaire could “wake up” a few minutes later. 

Cosette would probably say Grantaire should be up-front with Enjolras about what he wanted, including how much physical contact he needed to feel happy and secure, but Jehan would argue that it was wonderful the pair was managing to communicate about it all. They didn't know the exact reason for this dance, though they had their suspicions. R had always been prone to crippling bouts of self-doubt, especially about his own worth and especially about his attraction to Enjolras. Anyone would be deeply scarred by spending years being raped in the presence of their partner, but those scars would run much deeper and more painfully for R. Silently signaling to Enjolras he desired more affection, even he had kept it subtle enough that if Enjolras didn’t react it could be written off as simple obliviousness, had to have taken almost unknowable courage on Grantaire’s part, setting himself up for rejection from the love of his life like that, and in the presence of someone else, no less. 

Jehan had had their doubts about how Enjolras would handle a relationship at all, let alone one with Grantaire. It would be new ground for him, which meant he’d probably both miss things and overdo others. Hurts that could probably be smoothed over with an explanation or apology in normal circumstances but very well escalate to something far worse now. They had seen Enjolras’s love and commitment in the hospital, even as he expected a terrible punishment for insisting on getting to Grantaire’s side. That had heartened Jehan significantly, but that still hadn’t meant Enjolras would know how to translate that love and commitment into a more regular, day-to-day relationship. Granted, Jehan was only permitted to see very limited interactions, but Enjolras was clearly trying his best with whatever Grantaire was comfortable giving him. And the fact that Grantaire hadn't come to Jehan to ask to leave or snuck off to sleep somewhere else in the apartment, which had been another of their half-expectations, was also a positive sign that Grantaire wasn't completely petrified of being sent away. 

This was all part of Jehan’s current dilemma. R had, rather understandably, run off when Combeferre had first brought up the STD testing, and while Enjolras had followed him, Jehan had no idea if the pair had actually discussed it. They knew Éponine had given their friends supplies, but only told Enjolras to avoid making Grantaire feel pressured or judged or frightened, but they didn't know if Enjolras had even told Grantaire about it, or if they had made love yet, or if they had even discussed how they felt about it. They didn't even know if Enjolras had told Grantaire about his asexuality. There had been the one night they had come out to dinner unusually happy and giggly, but Jehan guessed it was because of something else. Sex didn’t appear to be a topic that made Grantaire feel particular happy or giggly. 

It felt instrusive to spend so much time speculating on their friends’ sexual habits, but given Enjolras’s penchant for randomly announcing things, they wanted to be prepared to not react in surprise, no matter what was said. They didn't really think Enjolras would announce something so private and intimate, but no one had thought Enjolras would keep getting out of bed at the hospital, and look how that had turned out. They worried that by bringing up the topic of sex, even in an oblique way, they would upset the delicate balance Grantaire and Enjolras had created for themselves, whatever it consisted of. 

After their Netflix session, the two of them would retire to their room and were quiet for the next few hours. Jehan hoped that they slept or read or worked on some art, but Enjolras hadn’t asked for more books and Grantaire hadn’t asked for more art supplies, or touched his phone at all, so they couldn’t be sure. They tried to get as much possible done during this time. Because the quiet would eventually be broken when Enjolras started his self-directed therapy. 

The first two weeks had been the worst of Jehan’s life, and that included the countless ones spent worrying for their friends. They had conjured so many different scenarios for what might be happening, but experiencing some of that trauma, albeit secondhand, was more terrible than anything their imagination had invented. Hearing Enjolras sob, and sob, and sob, at the mere thought of being apart from Grantaire until he made himself vomit from terror, while they could stand by and do nothing, had been an exquisitely horrific experience. They wanted to beg Combeferre to find another way, but Enjolras had already been suffering terribly without therapy, and they didn't know what step could be more incremental than just thinking. Grantaire had started getting dinner for the two of them to eat in their room. Enjolras would come with him, physically, clutching desperately at Grantaire’s clothes with both hands, but he was somewhere else entirely in his mind. 

It had been a major improvement when Enjolras began to only cry himself to exhaustion. That was also when Bahorel started coming three times a week so Jehan could leave and work at a nearby coffee shop in the afternoons. They had been reluctant at first, not wanting Enjolras to feel rejected or unsupported or unloved when he was suffering so very much but being so very brave, but there was only so much they could hear without it taking a toll. Bahorel had passed whatever secret test Enjolras had for letting people be around him and Grantaire, so he neither objected nor complained, and Jehan did feel more refreshed after their breaks, ready to stay calm no matter what else might happen. 

The two of them had stopped eating lunch, so Jehan would make them a larger dinner and sit patiently while they worked their way through it. Some days the only reason Enjolras ate was because Grantaire refused to eat until he did. Some days the only reason Grantaire ate was with lots of attention and discreet, under-the-table touches from Enjolras. Some days neither of them ate unless Jehan cajoled them the whole time. More than once, they had had to reheat the food when Éponine got home and let her talk them into it. 

Then the pair would go back to their room and it would all start over again the next day. And that's exactly what Grantaire and Enjolras would be expecting to happen today, but it wouldn't. Jehan suspected the routine would be derailed as soon as they told Enjolras and Grantaire they were going to the hospital. They wanted to wait until after breakfast, to make sure their friends ate, but...then what? It would probably be good for them to get their exercise in, but they could only imagine the emotional fall-out if they were both expecting their normal snuggling time and it was taken away without advance warning. Enjolras would likely become combative and Grantaire would probably sink even deeper into his own misery. 

Combeferre and Joly had both offered to come over and play bad cop, if Jehan felt Grantaire and Enjolras would lose their trust if they reminded them, but they felt it only right to handle it themselves. They didn't want their friends to end up hating and fearing anyone else. They might take the news from Éponine alright, but neither of them wanted her to deliver the news but then have to leave for work before their friends were done processing it. 

But then again, maybe waiting was just as bad of an idea. Grantaire and Enjolras were very attuned to any slight change in anyone’s attitude, which was partially why Jehan worked so hard to behave calmly and consistently, and they would both probably immediately pick up on the fact that something was off. And to them, off meant bad, which meant punishment. Jehan had initially rejected the idea of telling Enjolras first and letting him guide the process from there, because it was frankly unfair to put that kind of pressure on him, but he did have the most intimate understanding of Grantaire’s moods.

Jehan got through two more mugs of tea and watered all the plants that needed watering before they heard their friends’ bedroom door open. They could hear the feet of Grantaire’s onesie scuffing on the carpet as he went to the bathroom. They tried to settle themselves before going to knock on the bedroom door. Their first thought was Enjolras was ignoring them, but then he finally, slowly opened it. His eyes kept flicking between Jehan and over their shoulder, until Jehan moved far enough to the side that they weren't standing directly between the bedroom and bathroom. 

Enjolras tried to look at them but after a few seconds went back to looking at the ground. He didn't ask what Jehan wanted, but he didn't immediately apologize or beg. “Enjolras, do you remember when Ferre said the two of you would need to get tested for STDs?” Enjolras twisted his head away to indicate he very much did remember, but only now that Jehan had reminded him. Jehan tried to stand very still while they waited for Enjolras to respond, but they were aware Grantaire wouldn't be in the bathroom forever, and he would probably be terrified to come out and find the two of them like this. 

Enjolras shook himself. “Do you want me to tell him?” He sounded angry, but not as angry as he sometimes became. He probably was just as unsure as Jehan. 

“I don't know, Enjolras. I wanted - to work with you to make this as easy as possible for Grantaire. He’s so brave, but I know this will be really challenging for him.” Enjolras looked at them again, eyes flickering. They hid the sting that Enjolras assumed they might not have a common goal in Grantaire’s happiness, because no one else had cared about Grantaire’s happiness for years, and that included Grantaire himself. A few months was not enough to reverse that. It was an improvement that he trusted Jehan to continue the conversation instead of breaking into the bathroom to protect Grantaire. 

“There isn't a good way,” Enjolras snapped. 

“I know there isn't,” they said sympathetically. “But I thought you might have some ideas.” 

“I'll tell him,” Enjolras conceded, when the shower was turned off. 

“Of course. I know this will be really hard for R, but we really need to go today, alright?” 

“Why? It's not important.” Enjolras was at maximum waspishness, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Enjolras,” Jehan replied, drawing his name out to give themselves a little more time to think and guess, “I know it won't change how you feel about R. It's not going to change how any of us feel about him. It's just that if either of you are sick, Ferre and Joly need to know so they can help you get better.” 

“Fine. But I'm staying with him.” Enjolras swallowed a few times. “Not just – not just at the hospital, I mean.”

“Of course, Enjolras. No one is going to come between the two of you, no matter what the test results are.” Jehan had already confirmed the hospital bit with Combeferre, since they knew it would be one of Enjolras’s top concerns. They smiled one more time at Enjolras and then left before Grantaire could appear. They had been so focused they hadn't notice Éponine get up, and they were surprised to see her puttering around the kitchen. 

“How'd he take it?” 

“I don't know. Both better and worse than I expected.” 

“How do you think R is going to take it?” 

“I’d like to think it will help that Enjolras will be able to comfort him while he explains, but I don't know. I can't begin to imagine how terrible R must feel. And I'm sure it doesn't help that we all know. Even if they both are negative for everything, he’s going to blame himself that it had to be done in the first place.” 

Éponine frowned. “I feel pretty shitty about all this, and I'm not even them.” She shook her head. They could hear faint sounds of Grantaire crying, muffled, and Enjolras’s muted voice. “Are you sure you don't want me to come with? I'll call out and work can deal with it. The world won't end if a few people have to walk around with split ends for a few extra days.”

“No, you should go ahead and work. It might be worse if there are more people around. R might cope better if he can pretend you don’t know.” They sat together quietly. Jehan stared at their hands until Grantaire could no longer be heard. “It'll be alright.” 

It was very much not alright. Enjolras came out alone, eyes red and face tight. “We’re going to eat in our room,” he said, managing to look at Jehan almost the whole time. 

“Of course.” Jehan made up two plates, putting Enjolras’s pile on one, and gave them to him. It sounded like he barely kept from slamming the bedroom door behind him. 

“You're sure you'll be OK? Do you want me to call Bahorel? Combeferre? Cosette?”

Jehan tried to laugh a little in appreciation. “No, that's alright.” Éponine left soon after, though not before giving them a hug. Enjolras and Grantaire emerged far later. Grantaire was holding his comforter around himself as tightly as possible and staring at the floor like it might swallow him whole if he were lucky. Enjolras had an arm around his shoulders and was fiddling with Grantaire’s hood with his other hand. 

Jehan tried to watch them without watching in the taxi, but he couldn't see Grantaire around Enjolras, who, for his part, was ignoring everything that wasn't doting on his R. They had to admire how he refused to give up or back down despite Grantaire’s reluctance to accept love and support. When the cab stopped, Enjolras looked at the window and froze. 

“We’re not going back to where we were before,” he announced. 

“Of course not, Enjolras. Neither of you are being admitted. We're just going to go to an office and you’ll have your blood drawn. I promise that's it.”

Enjolras kept frowning but urged Grantaire out. He held onto R with a white-knuckled grip and mumbled to himself every time they made a turn. They had all discussed taking Enjolras and Grantaire to the regular STD clinic to help show R plenty of regular, everyday people got tested and there was nothing to be ashamed of. But Éponine had swayed Jehan to the idea that privacy would be better, so their friends didn't feel like they either had to bottle their feelings up only to explode later or felt humiliated when they created a scene. Combeferre and Joly had come around and booked a quiet room and got a phlebotomist they both knew well and trusted to perform the draw. 

She was just as friendly as promised and had no reaction to Grantaire and Enjolras’s unconventional appearance. “Do you want me to come with?” Jehan asked, after they had been shown the partition the nurse would take their friends behind. Enjolras looked back and forth between the hidden chair and Grantaire before nodding. 

He sat down without complaint, though he made sure to arrange Grantaire so they could give the phlebotomist room but still hold hands. He was very slow to comply when she asked him to remove R’s sweater when it was too chunky to roll far enough up, and he settled for only taking half off and bunching it up around his shoulder. Grantaire just stared blankly at their joined hands. 

Enjolras pinched his lips together and stared at the far corner of the room as his blood was drawn. Jehan couldn't imagine how much courage it took for Enjolras to stay calm enough to save Grantaire’s life when he was bleeding, when he couldn't even watch his own blood draw. As soon as he could, Enjolras pulled R’s sweater back on and stood up, pulling his partner to him. Jehan averted their eyes, to watch the nurse marking the vials of Enjolras’s blood and prepping the ones for Grantaire, when Enjolras kissed Grantaire’s forehead and spoke to him far too quietly for Jehan to hear. There was a loud rustling as R sat down in the chair, Enjolras holding one of his hands between both of his. 

“Grantaire, I'm going to need to see your arm,” the phlebotomist prodded gently when he didn’t move. Grantaire clutched his comforter more tightly. Jehan looked to Enjolras, not sure if they should leave or stay. If Enjolras hadn't trusted the police without Bahorel observing, he might not trust a hospital worker either. On the other hand, Grantaire was very self-conscious of his scars, and they didn't want to gawking if he'd prefer more privacy. Enjolras stared at them blankly before crouching close to Grantaire. Jehan stayed where they were but tried to not watch their friends directly.

It took several minutes, but whatever Enjolras said eventually worked. Grantaire slowly lowered the comforter to pool at his waist, before peeling half of Enjolras’s hoodie off and zipping his onesie partway down. He had a T-shirt on underneath, so only his lower arm and part of his upper arm were visible, the scars jagged and white, but Grantaire nevertheless had his eyes squeezed shut and flinched sharply when his elbow was cleaned with the alcohol wipe. Enjolras rubbed his back and whispered what were probably sweet nothings while carefully watching the phlebotomist, even as he turned pale. As soon as Grantaire arm was bandaged, Enjolras started redressing him, fussing over each layer far more than necessary as he went. He kissed Grantaire’s forehead again as he bundled him back up in his comforter. Grantaire still had his eyes closed. 

“Alright, since Dr. Combeferre put a rush on this, we should be able to call him with results late today or tomorrow. He’ll be able to explain the results and answer any questions.” She was labeling Grantaire’s vials as she said this, so she missed the way both her patients flinched. She brought out an assortment of juice boxes and cookies and pushed them on Enjolras and Grantaire. Grantaire just stared blankly at his, though Enjolras gently coaxed him into eating after furiously inhaling his own portion. 

As soon as they all returned to the apartment, Enjolras hurried Grantaire away to their room. There was no noise, and Jehan hoped they were just sleeping, or trying to sleep. They gave up trying to get any work done after their total unproductivity lasted for three mugs of tea and spent the rest of the afternoon knitting on the couch with documentaries on in the background. They had already given some thought to what they might say if one or both of their friends had a positive result, but the situation would vary so much depending on what it was, even though Combeferre and Joly had both assured everyone that, given a lack of obvious symptoms, any disease they might have would almost certainly be easily treatable and was no cause for alarm. Well, Joly thought it would very much be a cause for alarm, but admitted that was only because he wanted to make sure treatment began as soon as possible, if necessary. Combeferre had warned them that the results might not even be ready the same day, depending on what other tests jumped ahead in the lab queue, so it was a surprise when he showed up, without warning, with Éponine when she came home from work. 

“Combeferre!” they exclaimed quietly. “What's wrong?” 

Combeferre wiped the steam off his glasses. “On second thought,” Éponine snapped as she put her boots back on. “I need to go for a walk.” They listened to her clomp down the stairs with enough force Jehan was surprised they didn’t break. 

“Ferre?” 

“Sorry, I thought it would be best to discuss this in person. I already explained to Éponine on the way. I think she just needs some time to process it.” That sounded more ominous that what had previously been promised, but Combeferre was still dressed for the hospital, so Jehan got him some tea and a substantial snack. He ate politely but quickly, since the poor thing clearly hadn't had dinner yet. Court would hopefully spoil him when he got home to make up for an awful day.

Combeferre swirled the last dregs of tea around in his mug. “Grantaire tested positive for Hepatitis B.” He paused to let it sink in. Jehan had probably spent too much time researching everything their friends were being tested for out of morbid curiosity, and now it was hard to remember what information actually went with which disease. 

“Since he's asymptomatic, his prognosis is very good. I’ve scheduled an appointment for him tomorrow to have an ultrasound on his liver. Best case scenario, there’s minimal damage and he won’t need treatment, only than follow-ups every six months. Worst case, he’ll only need to take a daily pill to help control it. Either way, he’ll need to avoid alcohol and certain medications, but otherwise he can lead a perfectly normal life. 

“The three of you should all have been vaccinated as children, but Joly and I would like all three of you to get tested tomorrow to confirm your immunity. If you’re not, we can give you another round of shots. It’s passed through bodily fluids, except for saliva, so you and Éponine should be fine anyway, but it’s the safest course of action. Assuming Enjolras is still immune, they can have unprotected sex, if that’s what they would like. I know this probably sounds intense, but with regular care it shouldn’t have much impact at all on Grantaire’s life.”

“That's good news,” Jehan said. They hated that Grantaire had caught something, and the ultrasound, and potentially the medication, would undoubtedly be painful to endure, hopefully he could eventually come to terms with the diagnosis if his life was unaffected. That didn’t quite explain Éponine’s rage of the way Combeferre was still swirling the last of his tea.

He carefully set the mug down. “Montparnasse had the same tests done, and I requested his results. He doesn’t have it. We know Enjolras doesn’t have it. Joly said Grantaire was very good at getting tested regularly before – I don’t think he already had it. The only possibility Joly and I could come up with was somehow whatever Grantaire used in his suicide attempt got contaminated somewhere along the way. The virus can survive for several days, and there doesn’t have to be any visible blood. Maybe someone packaging was infected and nicked themselves on it while packaging it. Maybe it touched a surface that had trace blood from an infected person. We’ll never know for sure.”

No wonder Éponine needed to go for a walk. Jehan hadn't even thought Grantaire might have gotten sick not from rape, but from his suicide attempt. If R blamed himself before, they couldn't even imagine what it would be like now. “Given his state of mind, I don't think Grantaire should be alone for awhile. Normally I might even suggest he be hospitalized, but I think that would do more harm than good for him, and Enjolras. Feuilly has offered to come stay nights so you and Éponine can sleep.”

“That is probably the best option,” Jehan agreed. They wouldn’t be able to be calm and collected during the day if they had to listen for Grantaire sneaking around all night. 

“Or the least worst. I've already made appointments for the three of you tomorrow. Éponine said she'll take the day off to be around. I'm sure another hospital trip is going to be difficult. Joly said he’ll brief the tech doing the ultrasound.” 

Combeferre stopped speaking when they heard the bedroom door open. Enjolras appeared, arm wrapped around a crumpled Grantaire to keep him from crumpling even more. He froze when he saw Combeferre at the table. Jehan should really have gone and told them he was here so they weren't blind-sided when they came out for dinner, but it was too late now. “What's going on?” He put his other arm around Grantaire. 

Combeferre finally put his mug down, very carefully, like it might shatter any second. “I have your test results.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went down a rabbit hole of STD research, and from what I could gather about Hep B, most people show symptoms, but some do not and have no idea they're infected. Even people who have been vaccinated for it, like Grantaire would have been, can still contract it if their immune system is compromised enough. (I know that might sound outlandish, but I had a friend in high school who had to get tested for whopping cough despite being very much vaccinated for it, so it's a real possibility!) Also it sounds like no one has really studied how effective the vaccine is after 20 years have elapsed. Chronic Hep B can either be treated with anti-viral pills or left untreated, depending on the result of some liver tests. That last part was never clearly explained, so I can only assume it's in cases where side effects of medication would be worse than the benefits. Everything suggested that if you look after your liver and general health, you can live a completely normal life, other than making sure anyone you live with or have unprotected sex with is confirmed immune/made immune from shots.


	52. Chapter Fifty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning for some suicidal ideation in the beginning of the chapter.

“Grantaire, will you please eat? For me?” Grantaire did not come out of his comforter cocoon. Enjolras had been trying everything for the last hour to get him to eat something, anything for dinner, but that unfortunately conflicted with Grantaire’s busy schedule of trying to will himself out of existence. He had been relieved (though maybe just a tiny bit disappointed) the first time Enjolras had gotten up, surprised he had given up on Grantaire so quickly (not that Grantaire could blame him for that, other than that he should've done it long before now,) except Enjolras had only gone to reheat the cooled macaroni before he tried pushing it on Grantaire yet again. He wasn't about to fall for any of Enjolras’s dirty tricks after holding out for so long. 

Grantaire had briefly considered trying to fit himself through the window, which had been altered not to open very far, while Enjolras was gone, but he wasn't sure a fall from a third-story window would be enough to kill him. He might very well just end up paralyzing himself instead, and if his life could get any shittier, that would be the way. And, honestly, the whole thing just sounded like it would take so much...energy. And Enjolras would probably be disappointed in him. OK, if his life could get any shittier, that would really be it. So he had settled for the childish middle ground of hiding himself, like if he couldn't see Enjolras, Enjolras couldn't see him either. And if Enjolras couldn't see Grantaire, he couldn't force a conversation about this. 

Enjolras tentatively laid a hand on his shoulder. Grantaire wanted to shrug it off, but that seemed like too much effort. And it's not like he didn't want to Enjolras to touch him, he just also wished he wouldn't. “Please, Grantaire? Please eat? We don't - I won't make you talk about it, I promise.” Even though Grantaire had no appetite, he knew he was actually hungry. Even through his misery it struck him as how much he had changed that he was refusing food for no other reason than personal preference. Before he had been willing to do just about anything to be allowed to eat, and he had proven that often, especially when it meant Enjolras could eat as well. But he suspected eating would make him feel marginally better, and he wanted to feel as miserable as possible. 

Enjolras rubbed his shoulder a little. “I know it's hard, Grantaire. Would it help - do you want - I could feed you if you'd like?” Trust Enjolras to find a way to get through, given enough time. Grantaire never should have doubted him. He would be damned if he let Enjolras spoon-feed him like some sort of invalid when all he was just a little sad. He sat up and snatched the plate of food from Enjolras so quickly that Enjolras flinched in surprise. Grantaire began wolfing the food down fast enough to give himself a stomachache, but he welcomed the thought. He didn’t know what point it would make exactly, and Enjolras would probably reprimand him for making himself sick, but Enjolras just watched him, frowning and silent. Maybe he was just exhausted from dealing with Grantaire acting like a spoiled brat.

Grantaire dropped the plate onto the floor with as much force as he dared when he had finished, trying his best to glare at Enjolras, before flopping back over and covering his head. Even as his stomach started to cramp, just as he had predicted, he could still feel the dull, persistent ache all over his body. He wondered if the night would be cold enough for him to freeze to death. He had always hated seeing Enjolras shivering and terrified and helpless, but on a few occasions, when Enjolras had been very bad but the neighbors had happened to be up for a rare winter weekend, Master had substituted the usual separation with an extended stay outside (which usually continued until Grantaire had been brought to utter exhaustion alternating between begging Master and pleasuring him every way he could think of in a futile effort to stop it,) and Enjolras had been very dazed and confused when Grantaire could finally rescue him, but not really distressed. The beginning might be hard but it seemed like the ending would be relatively peaceful. 

But that possibility was out of the question. Sure, Dr. Combeferre had said Feuilly would come and be there during the nights if he or Enjolras needed anything, but Grantaire wasn’t totally stupid. He knew that was code for: Feuilly is coming to make sure you don’t try anything naughty like running away while everyone is sleeping. It would’ve been hard enough to slip away from Enjolras, who clung desperately to him even in unconsciousness, and there would’ve been the danger of Enjolras having a night terror without Grantaire there to soothe him, which would wake Jehan and Éponine and alert them to Grantaire’s absence before the cold had had enough time to work its magic, but he had no idea how he might sneak past someone whose sole purpose was to make sure something like that did not happen. 

Grantaire listened to Enjolras return and rustle around the room, until he came back to their pallet. Grantaire half-expected (well, more like 99%-expected) another lecture in line with Dr. Combeferre’s, full of nonsense like how it wasn’t his fault and there was almost no chance he had infected anyone else and without any visible symptoms of liver damage he probably wouldn’t even need medication and that there was no need to be ashamed (because apparently Dr. Combeferre was trapped in an alternate reality where Grantaire didn’t need to feel ashamed of slicing his arms open because the one person he loved more than anything had left specifically because Grantaire had given him the chance to,) that getting tested was an important part of staying healthy and should be commended, and that Enjolras would be fine as long as Grantaire refrained from bleeding or coming all over him for the next day or so (to be fair, Dr. Combeferre had worded that last part a little differently.) But Enjolras did none of that. 

He sat down, facing away from Grantaire, their backs pressed together, and wound a blanket around their middles and made quite a performance to tucking it around Grantaire just so. There was some more rustling, and it appeared Enjolras had settled in with his book for the long haul. It had taken time and Grantaire had studiously pretended not to notice as Enjolras had grown agitated and frustrated, reading the same part of his book over and over and over, but as the medication and therapy had worked their combined magic, Enjolras had started to make some progress. He still read much slower than he had before (because, yes, Grantaire’s mind had chosen to block out much of the past, but it readily supplied him with information about how fast Enjolras used to read) and took short, frequent breaks and used a bookmark to mark the line of text he was on, but it was a huge improvement. Grantaire had come to cherish spending the mornings snuggling close on the couch and then sketching in the closet while Enjolras read next to him. It let him pretend he was safe and cared for. Of course that would now be over because it had been revealed to Enjolras just how dirty and disgusting Grantaire was. He didn’t know how anyone could tell him with a straight face it wasn’t his fault when it was. If Master had gotten him sick, he still wouldn’t have believed them, but maybe he could’ve understood their perspective. But not now, not in this case. 

He wasn’t sure how long they sat together like that. At first, he froze every time Enjolras moved, expecting the lecture was finally about to start, but eventually, despite his very best efforts, he felt comforted by the warmth of Enjolras’s body and the steady turning of pages and his aching eased a little. “You should go to sleep,” he finally whispered, moving the comforter away from his face so Enjolras would understand him. He had lost track of time in his malaise, but it had to be late, and Enjolras had to be tired. 

He heard Enjolras carefully set his book down. “Are you going to be able to sleep, Grantaire?” he asked quietly, and without judgment. 

Grantaire just shrugged. He suspected he had slept more than he thought on the many terrible nights he had spent locked in the crawlspace with Enjolras, because sometimes he would suddenly notice the light was markedly different, but it was never restful enough to actually feel like sleep. That’s probably what would happen tonight. Enjolras rubbed Grantaire’s side a few times and then wordlessly resumed reading. 

“Please,” he said quietly. He took a deep breath to steady himself. The ache was coming back. “You need to rest. I promise I won’t go anywhere. And if you think I’m lying, you know Feuilly will stop me.” 

Enjolras set his book down again. “No, Grantaire. I should never have done that – just gone to sleep and left you to hurt by yourself. I don’t – I don’t know what to do to make you feel better, but I promise I’m right here. You don’t need to suffer alone.”

“While I appreciate the solidarity, Enjolras, you being exhausted tomorrow for no reason won’t actually be helpful. I said I promised not to do anything while you sleep. You can argue with me tomorrow, if you really want to.”

“It’s not for no reason, Grantaire,” Enjolras said gently. Maybe he was getting lessons from Jehan on how not to get (understandably) frustrated when Grantaire acted like this. “I know this is hard, and I’m worried you want to – that you won’t take care of yourself, and I’m not upset or angry with you, but I can’t just leave you alone with those dark thoughts when you’ve done nothing wrong. I should never have done that. It was completely selfish of me. I’d – I know I don’t have a right to ask anything of you after how horrible I was, but I’d like to try to make amends – be better this time. I love you, Grantaire. More than anything. I’m not – I know this isn’t about me, but it hurts me to see you hurting. I know my love isn’t going to magically fix everything, and I’m not trying pressure you to feel better faster, I just – I want to be there, to try to help.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but squirm. He hadn’t minded when Enjolras slept, let alone held it against him. Enjolras had had a much more strenuous life and suffered much more physically, instead of just lazing around all day and getting Master off every so often. He deserved as much rest as he could possibly get. It would have never occurred to Grantaire to ask him to stay awake to – what? Watch Grantaire mope about? That wouldn’t have done either of them any good. But hearing Enjolras profess his love and devotion made him feel warm. And uncomfortable. That was supposed to be his job. 

“If I promise to try, will you sleep?” Grantaire asked, setting Enjolras up. He shouldn’t do this. Enjolras didn’t want to argue. Grantaire didn’t really want to argue either.

“Of course,” Enjolras said warmly. He immediately started fussing around with the blankets. 

“You shouldn’t though,” Grantaire said, trying to snap, but too drained to do it effectively. “I’m dirty.”

Why had he said that? If he could’ve just keep his stupid mouth shut, he could’ve just spent the night quietly laying in Enjolras’s arms, and pretended in the morning he had tried his very best to fall asleep, but he couldn’t. Not now that he knew just how little he deserved that. “You’re not dirty, Grantaire,” Enjolras said plaintively, rubbing his arm. Here came the lecture. “You heard what Combeferre said. It wasn’t your fault at all, and there’s virtually no chance you spread it to anyone else.”

Grantaire hid his face again. Enjolras got up and Grantaire was certain he had managed to drive him away, and he couldn’t decide if he was relieved or even more miserable, but all Enjolras did was turn out the light and then immediately zoom back to hold Grantaire. They spooned like normal (and fuck, how had Grantaire gotten so comfortable with the arrangement that he found spooning Enjolras in sleep to be normal,) but Enjolras used his top arm to rub the top of Grantaire’s chest. It didn’t feel like much, through all his layers, but eventually it soothed him the way Enjolras just sitting next to him quietly and reading had soothed him. He was determined not to fall asleep, because he deserved to suffer all night, but the next thing he knew, the room was filled with the gray light of impending dawn. 

Granted, he still felt awful and terrible and naughty and disgusting and just plain gross, but things seemed slightly less hopeless. Enjolras finding out he was scarred and sick (though that second part had only been hypothetical until now) had been the most terrifying thing he could conceive of. (Something happening to Enjolras would have normally occupied that top slot, but worrying about that was more a way of a life than a fear that could be examined and compartmentalized separately.) But it had come to pass, and Enjolras had still stayed, was still sleeping pressed against him, snuffling adorably in the midst of some hopefully pleasant dream. Grantaire was close to feeling hopeful. But then again, so much of this relationship was theoretical, wasn’t it? It was easy for Enjolras to say he was fine sleeping with Grantaire, but he he had no experience. What would he say if actually confronted with trying to be aroused and pleased by Grantaire’s wrecked body? He might try out of sheer stubbornness, but that didn’t mean he’d actually…like it. It was nice he was pretending he loved Grantaire so much for non-sexual reasons (whatever the hell those were) that that love could overcome Grantaire’s failings in bed. 

He felt the growing urge to hurt himself, to at least scratch his arms, but he didn’t feel strong enough to weather the Enjolras Storm that would unleash itself if he felt Grantaire had tricked him into falling asleep after all, just so he could use that time to self-harm. It felt horrible and gross and wrong, but he reached up to push his comforter and hood down so that he could feel Enjolras’s warm breaths on the back of his neck. He could just pretend it had happened in his sleep. Even if Enjolras found out (or simply guessed) that Grantaire had done himself and felt violated, it was still better than the alternative. Grantaire must have managed to sleep a little more, because he was surprised to find Enjolras stroking the side of his neck. Grantaire was glad he didn’t kiss the back of it again, because he had no idea how to tell Enjolras it had unexpectedly turned him on and should therefore never happen again.

Grantaire had foolishly hoped the morning would proceed normally, to at least allow him to pretend for a little while that he was not a raging dumpster fire of a person, but he found it hard to believe Enjolras had suddenly relapsed into needing to be in the bathroom together while they showered, as Enjolras valiantly tried to claim. He knew it was because Enjolras didn’t trust him to be alone. Which made him irritable. Except that he had just had to talk himself out of doing the thing he needed to be watched so he didn’t do. That just made him want to go back to laying on the floor and hoping to be left alone, preferably for forever.

At least Feuilly had gone when they emerged for breakfast, and Jehan was pretending that everything was just fine and dandy, despite the fact that Éponine was there because, that’s right, everyone had to go to the hospital to make sure Grantaire hadn’t infected them. He would’ve been angry with Enjolras (and Jehan and Éponine) for insisting he wasn’t dirty in light of this fact, but he was too nonplussed that Enjolras still saw this as the honest truth. He tried just pushing his food around on his plate, after Enjolras started rubbing his knee under the table in response to him not eating at all, but he didn’t manage to actually consume it until Éponine watched him intensely for several minutes. 

Enjolras was overly solicitous in helping Grantaire dress for the weather and in going to down the stairs and walking through the hospital (even as he again whispered landmarks to himself to remember the way,) and Grantaire was so very tempted to snap at him to make him stop and leave him alone, but the thought of Enjolras actually withdrawing made him feel even worse than the affection did. Jehan and Éponine kept up a conversation about Jehan’s latest poetry workshop instead of discussing how Grantaire had almost gotten them severely ill, keeping up this façade of normalcy. They had the same phlebotomist as the day before, and she joined in, also making no comment about having to see them again so soon. Maybe she didn’t know the details. Grantaire felt himself drifting away as they went behind the partition one by one to have their blood drawn, Enjolras being the exception of course, dragging Grantaire along and petting his hand the whole time and whispering gentle words, only pausing when the needle was inserted into his arm. 

It had been so long since this had happened that Grantaire had almost forgotten what it felt like. It had always been a bit like being trapped in the uncanny valley, watching himself be used from afar, knowing pain and humiliation was being inflicted but not having to feel it. Now it was even weirder, watching Enjolras shepherd his limp form around the building to another room and stare intensely at the technician who explained how the ultrasound was going to work. It was a relief, as he watched himself slowly strip his from the waist up, to not feel the shame of it so acutely. It was a surprise, as he watched Enjolras carefully look nowhere but his face and stroke his forehead to distract him. He had seen Enjolras do all this, of course, from a normal perspective, the one people had when they weren’t so fucked up they went into this dissociative state or whatever the hell this was to cope with a minor medical test, but seeing it from an outsider’s view made it seem more real. How ironic, since everything else felt so unreal in this state. Did Enjolras really love him? It was so bizarre to see this demonstrated, when it went so against his normal thoughts. But it was hard to hang onto those as he watched Enjolras make a huge fuss of redressing him and getting each layer just right.

He drifted back to the apartment in this state, wondering how much longer he could stay like this, stay away from all the shitty feelings. It was nice watching Enjolras take care of him without the intensity of his normal emotions. Despite the fact that it made Enjolras’s love feel more real, the whole thing felt like a fantasy, and the fantasy was much safer than reality. The fantasy couldn’t abandon him. But it had lasted too long already.

“I’m not doing my therapy today,” Enjolras snapped, turning around from where he had been leading Grantaire away to the room they shared. It was jarring, not to just suddenly be back in reality, but from the surge of adrenaline that always hit Grantaire when Enjolras openly defied the rules. He knew he should beg that he would get Enjolras to see reason, but he felt too wrong-footed to speak immediately.

“I don’t think one day off is going to do any harm,” Jehan agreed gently, unruffled by Enjolras’s outburst. “Why don’t you two get some rest? Ferre is going to come over after work with all of our results. I can come get you if you’re sleeping then. We’ll be out here if you need anything.” They smiled reassuringly. 

“Enjolras,” Éponine said, a warning in her voice and a pointed look, which probably meant something like “watch out your partner is a fucking trainwreck right now good luck.” Enjolras nodded and then bundled Grantaire away and onto their pallet. Grantaire hoped they could just spoon like this, Enjolras toying with his curls, in silence, until the evening, but he should’ve known better than to assume Enjolras could manage a whole 24 hours without needing to have a Conversation. 

“Does it help?” he asked. Grantaire had to mull the question over for a minute, surprised that that was what Enjolras had wanted to know, of all things. He still felt hot with shame.

“You noticed?” Of course Enjolras had noticed Grantaire had been walking around like a zombie. At least Enjolras only hummed in agreement instead of pressing the matter further. 

“I – I guess. Fuck, I’m going to sound like a coward, but it’s nice to – to have a break.” 

“Oh.” Enjolras’s hand paused for a moment. Would this be the thing that disgusted him enough to make him leave? But he hadn’t been remotely disgusted earlier. “Am I – do I – is there too much pressure? I never meant-”

“No, Enjolras. It’s not you. It’s all the shit in my head.” That was still pretty pathetic.

“I wish I could do more to help,” Enjolras murmured, hand starting up again. Grantaire couldn’t see, but he imagined Enjolras was biting his lip, before he said, “Could you – what has you so worried? Or you don’t have to say if you don’t want to. But I want – I’m here to listen.”

“Do we have to talk about - about it?” Grantaire asked before he could stop himself. He needed to know. 

“It? What do you mean – oh.” Enjolras probably gnawed on his lip some more. Grantaire hoped Dr. Combeferre wouldn’t say anything about it later. “You mean, if – if I’m immune?” Enjolras asked tentatively. He had gotten better at talking around things, instead of just plowing on ahead, Grantaire had to give him that. Grantaire nodded against Enjolras’s hand, mouth spontaneously dry. It was his own damn fault for asking, but his subconscious desire to know, finally, for sure, whether Enjolras would leave him, was too great to overcome. More presumed lip gnawing. 

“Grantaire, I-” Another long pause. “We – we always could have. Éponine, she put – stuff in my nightstand in case we wanted it. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to pressure you or make you think that’s all I wanted or anything. I am truly, honestly happy with how our relationship is right now. I’ll be happy if it stays like this forever. But – maybe I was wrong. I know this is important to you, and I certainly didn’t mean to keep secrets from you. I just didn’t – Grantaire, I’ve never done anything like this before. If anyone is the coward, it’s me, for not discussing this with you.”

“You’re not a coward,” Grantaire said. To be perfectly honest, he wouldn’t want to figure out how to have this conversation with himself either. If Enjolras had sprung this on him as soon as they were given a private room to share, he probably would have just assumed Enjolras was interested in making use of Grantaire in the only fashion he was actually useful. Grantaire hesitated and then stood up and went to the nightstand. He wasn’t sure how much Éponine had expected them to be fucking, but they were certainly well-stocked on condoms and lube. He choked up, not knowing why at first, until he realized it was because someone had thought that, if Grantaire were going to be taken, that it should be a safe and comfortable experience for him, at least in theory. Condoms hadn’t been included in Master’s repertoire, and while he’d generally used lube, he’d had no compunctions about using far less than Grantaire would’ve chosen for himself. And he had found taking Grantaire dry to be a particularly effective punishment if he felt Grantaire and Enjolras were getting a little too cozy but couldn’t be bothered to actually separate them himself. Grantaire imagined Enjolras was watching him and turned his head away to swipe at his eyes. “You would – you would use all this?” he asked stupidly. 

Enjolras was, indeed, watching him across the bed. “Grantaire, if we do – we don’t have to rush anything. But yes, I certainly would, if that’s what you wanted. I’ll use whatever – if there’s something else you want, I can ask.” Enjolras had turned bright red. It would certainly be a test of Jehan’s calm if Enjolras abruptly blurted out a list of sex-related items he needed.

“Well, while Éponine would probably throw us a party, I’m not sure it’d be worth giving Jehan a heart attack.” Grantaire was gratified to hear Enjolras manage a squeaky laugh. 

“I would try to be a little more subtle than usual, I promise.” He was still red, but smiling. 

Grantaire felt a jolt as he looked at Enjolras. He couldn’t remember the last time Enjolras had made him aroused like this, with his stupid feelings and his stupid intensity and his stupid face, not just from his fantasies of imaginary Enjolras projected onto the real Enjolras or incidental physical contact. When his patchy stubble had started growing in, he had imagined the other effects of his hormones balancing back out would be back at any time, actual desire for sex included. But still, it was overwhelming, in those first few seconds of wanting wanting wanting before his shame kicked in. But then Enjolras was there, carefully wrapping the comforter back around him and then hugging him sideways. “Shh, Grantaire, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to press.”

“No, it’s – it’s fine.” Grantaire hated the way his voice was shaking. “It’s just not right. You’re getting so much better, while I’m just - dirty and depressed and a huge pain in the ass, and you’re stuck with me.”

“Shh. I like being with you, Grantaire.” Enjolras rocked Grantaire slightly where they stood. It made him feel like a child, but also it made him feel good. “You’re certainly not dirty or a pain in the ass.” A little more rocking. “Do you want – your depression, I could ask? I know you don’t want to talk to anyone, but maybe Combeferre can prescribe you something?”

“I’m worried,” Grantaire admitted. “Sometimes it – makes you worse. If it’s not the right one for you. And it’s not going to work right away.”

“Oh.” He kissed Grantaire’s head. “I’m sorry.” They stood together for a long time. 

“I want to draw,” Grantaire finally said. He actually wanted to cuddle, but it seemed wrong to ask for that so soon after getting excited by Enjolras. He wasn’t really punishing himself, not exactly, but still.

“Of course,” Enjolras agreed readily. He retrieved his book and followed Grantaire into the closet without complaint. Grantaire opened his sketchbook to a clean page and hesitated. Enjolras was sitting cross-legged, one knee touching Grantaire’s folded legs but was otherwise engrossed in reading. Or maybe not as engrossed as Grantaire thought, since he flipped back a few pages and started mouthing the words to himself as he re-read. It felt wrong, but would it really be so bad to draw Enjolras? He had seen the evidence on his tablet, that he had done it all the fucking time before, apparently, and if Enjolras hadn’t run away screaming when he saw Grantaire get interested, he probably wouldn’t object to this. 

“Enjolras?” he asked quietly, not looking up. It was clear if they were ever going to sleep together, he would have to do the asking. He might as well practice now, with something less scary. 

“What is it, Grantaire?” Enjolras immediately set his book down.

“Do you mind if – if-” He waved his sketchbook a little. 

Enjolras blushed. “Oh,” he squeaked again. “No, that’s fine.” He returned to his book but looked up shyly every so often. Grantaire wasn’t about to mention it would be easier to draw Enjolras if he would just hold still for a minute, not when he kept looking at Grantaire like that. It was almost enough to make Grantaire forget the last two days, until there was a knock on the door. He looked up and realized he could hear Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac talking to Éponine out in the apartment. He hadn’t even heard them arrive, and neither had Enjolras, judging by the way his book flew out of his hands.

Grantaire set his half-finished sketch aside (at least now he had good excuse for asking to sit like this again) and let Enjolras lead him out by the hand. Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac looked neither particularly happy or particularly sad, though Grantaire wondered why Master de Courfeyrac was there at all. But he was with Dr. Combeferre, maybe they were going somewhere after work or just wanted to see each other or – Grantaire needed to stop and get out of this new habit of wondering what people were doing. They would do whatever they wanted, and he just needed to bear any consequences that came his way.

Enjolras wrapped an arm around Grantaire’s waist and pulled him close, ignoring the greetings given. “Why is Courfeyrac here?” Well, at least they were sometimes on the same page about some things.

“I’m sorry, Enjolras, I just have an update on your case. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I’m not frightened,” Enjolras insisted, the lie rather transparent, Grantaire thought. Master would’ve called him out on it, but no one mentioned it now.

“Why don’t we go over everyone’s test results first?” Dr. Combeferre suggested, though Grantaire didn’t miss the way he rubbed Master de Courfeyrac’s back, which smoothed out his hurt expression. Dr. Combeferre waited, like he thought they might like to sit down, but Enjolras didn’t move, so Grantaire didn’t either. “Well, it’s generally good news all around,” he said when it became clear this would be a standing meeting. “Grantaire, your liver looked perfectly healthy. You’ll need to have a follow-up every six months, but for now there’s no need for intervention. I scheduled your next appointment, and I’ll give Jehan a list of medications you need to avoid. And you can always ask if you’re not sure about something.” Grantaire wasn’t really surprised he was fine, since he felt like shit but not any specific kind of shit, but Enjolras let out a shuddering breath and squeezed Grantaire tightly. Grantaire worked up the courage to touch the hand on his waist in reassurance, and Enjolras promptly grabbed it, practically crushing Grantaire’s fingers.

Grantaire looked up in fright (because he wasn’t going to pretend like Enjolras) but Dr. Combeferre was only smiling. Master de Courfeyrac was practically beaming, the sadness from a moment ago completely gone. “Enjolras and Jehan are both immune. Éponine had an inconclusive result, so she’s going to get a booster shot. It’s possible she missed a shot as a child-”

“I think you mean the assholes who were my parents neglected things like doctor visits,” Éponine interrupted from where she had perched on the arm of the sofa.

“For whatever reason, Éponine needs another dose,” Dr. Combeferre said diplomatically. “For the time being, I would recommend being careful not to share any personal hygiene items and be careful about any bleeding, even if it’s just a cut. But there’s no great danger.” Enjolras gave Grantaire a more controlled squeeze. “Do you have any questions?” Dr. Combeferre asked and thankfully took it as a no when they didn’t respond. “Courf?” he prompted.

“Oh, alright.” Master de Courfeyrac picked up a folder from the kitchen table and held it out. Enjolras hesitated before letting go of Grantaire to take it. “So, the grand jury delivered its final indictment today. That’s a list of all the charges. I thought you might like to see it?” Enjolras perked up and opened the folder. Grantaire thought the list was long, until Enjolras flipped through the sheets and he saw it spanned several pages. He could hardly believe it. Was Master really going to be held accountable for all these things? It was too overwhelming to read through them, and he really didn’t want to guess which ones covered what had happened to him personally, so he tried to stand quietly while Enjolras went through it, sliding his thumb down the margin as he examined them. After awhile he noticed Enjolras staring at one in particular. 

There was some legal jargon, but even he understood what “promoting a suicide attempt” meant. He tried to turn away but Enjolras didn’t let him. “Why is this on here?” he asked sharply, spinning the folder so Master de Courfeyrac could see.

“Well, it’s not just meant for assisted suicide or someone with knowledge who nevertheless remains passive. The prosecution feels they have a strong argument that, um, it was intentionally caused.” It felt like the room was spinning, and Grantaire ripped away from Enjolras to sit on the floor and try to breathe. Someone, somewhere, had thought they could argue Master had made Grantaire attempt suicide? But that would mean it really wasn’t his fault, and if that wasn’t his fault, neither was getting sick. But all Master had done was lead Grantaire to believe Enjolras was either dead or long gone – he hadn’t taken the razorblade to Grantaire’s arms himself. A less fucked-up person could have survived without trying to kill themselves. He could hear Enjolras urging him to breathe, though he could also hear Dr. Combeferre prompting him in the background. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he gasped. 

Jehan was kneeling next to him. “R, sweetheart, it’s alright. Listen to Enjolras, just take some nice, deep breaths.” He tried, not wanting anyone to think Enjolras was doing a bad job and get him into trouble. He wondered distantly if this is what it felt like when Enjolras had a panic attack. It was horrible.

“Grantaire,” Master de Courfeyrac said from above him once he had somewhat calmed down, “it’s illegal to manipulate someone into attempting or committing suicide. Just because someone doesn’t carry out the act itself, it doesn’t mean they’re not actually the guilty party.” Enjolras was nodding along like this also made sense to him. Grantaire looked at him with wide eyes, overwhelmed and embarrassed and feeling trapped by so many people in such a small space. Thankfully, Enjolras understood and took him away. He nestled Grantaire on their pallet and kissed his forehead. 

“I just need to go talk to Courfeyrac about what happens next, alright? I don’t want it to be a surprise for you. I promise I’ll be right back.” Grantaire nodded, determined to prove he could survive without constant attention. He sat up when Enjolras was gone, so quickly it made him a little dizzy, and wrestled his sleeves down, staring at his horrific scars. He had been looking at them for years and years now, each time a vicious reminder of just how weak and pathetic he was. But now he had been given objective, non-Enjolras proof that they were not his fault after all, that a whole broken system un-broke for long enough to decide it was really Master’s fault. Grantaire buried his face in arms, the raised lines of the scars scraping his face, and began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note on the Hep B vaccine process - most people get three doses as a child, but if one is missed, you can just start back up where you left off, even if a lot of time has passed, and then get tested for immunity after giving it time to take effect. When I was looking at all the vaccine charts, I was amazed just how many rounds there are for everything, and I can see the Thénardiers getting a little lax.


	53. Chapter Fifty-three

“What’s up?” Bahorel said, pushing away from where he was leaning against the wall outside the apartment building. Grantaire had been staring at the ground and Enjolras had been watching him from the corner of his eye, so they both jumped in response, and Enjolras automatically tugged Grantaire closer. When Jehan had said Bahorel was coming over earlier than normal, Enjolras had promised himself he would try to act as normally as possible, and here he was getting frightened because someone he knew had greeted him on the street. How could he ever expect to function in the world again if that was enough to upset him?

“Good morning,” Jehan replied, smiling at Bahorel and ignoring the reactions of their charges, in what Enjolras could only assume was a deliberate manner. Jehan opened the door and let everyone in. Bahorel hesitated a moment when they reached the stairs, but when another resident opened the building door and started to approach, he moved to walk behind Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras felt on edge with Bahorel right behind them, it would be so easy for him to reach out and physically overpower either one of them, and Enjolras had to consciously remind himself that in all the times Bahorel had baby-sat them, alone, he had done no such thing. And this arrangement was much better than having some stranger breathing down his neck.

Once Jehan had let everyone into the apartment, Bahorel went to the kitchen table and began setting up his laptop, while Jehan spoke to him quietly. It was probably instructions for how to keep Enjolras from having a tantrum because his routine had been disrupted like this. Jehan had been apologetic and said they had a meeting that couldn’t be moved any later, but judging from the small smudges under their eyes, Enjolras suspected this “meeting” was just with a bed in one of their friends’ apartments, where no one would wake them with screaming. Enjolras had almost understood then why Grantaire sometimes hid himself in his comforter, because even though he was trying so hard to control himself, he was still causing problems while unconscious, problems he couldn’t even remember the next day. 

Enjolras tried not to think about it as he focused on queueing up the next episode of the show he and Grantaire had been working their way through, while Grantaire got himself and their blankets arranged just so. Grantaire had bravely brought out one of their largest blankets one morning to keep in the living room, though he had tried to act nonchalant about it, and he had taken to wrapping it around both of them before opening up his comforter to lean directly against Enjolras. He now played at sleep every day, but with the addition of taking Enjolras’s hand and ever so gently squeezing it at irregular intervals. 

It hurt Enjolras that Grantaire still didn’t feel like he could just ask for the attention and affection he needed, though Enjolras understood more and more why this was the case, but he did feel honored that Grantaire was starting to let him in just a little bit more. It had to be so hard for him to do even this, when there was a possibility of Enjolras bringing it up in conversation or just outright rejecting the advances, and Enjolras responded by never mentioning it, and by rubbing his thumb over the back of Grantaire’s hand after every squeeze.

That wasn’t to say everything had suddenly and swiftly improved, though. Twice, in their clumsy double-blind fumbling, Enjolras’s hand had slipped a little down Grantaire’s sleeve and brushed some of his scars. There had been no hand-squeezing that day, though Enjolras had done plenty of hand-rubbing regardless, and when they had gone back to their room, Grantaire had lain down on their nest and buried himself away. But both times Enjolras had sat quietly next to him and read, or tried to read, their bodies touching, as long as it took for Grantaire to emerge. 

It was so very hard not to talk, not to sit there and tell Grantaire how amazing and brave and strong he was and how much Enjolras loved him, no matter what, but for his part, Enjolras was finally grasping that Grantaire did better with silence rather than talking. It took a real effort not to say anything, not to try to make it right, when his partner was hurting so badly, but he was trying his hardest to mend his ways for Grantaire. The results had been good; the last time had taken a few hours, but when Grantaire did resurface, he actually listened when Enjolras reminded him it wasn’t his fault, that plenty of other people that didn’t even know him agreed it wasn’t his fault, and after awhile Grantaire had smiled a little and was amiable to moving to the closet, like it was any other day. It should’ve been obvious to Enjolras long ago that this was the best way to handle such situations, considering how Grantaire’s previous preferred method of dealing with them was to physically remove himself from them if Enjolras pushed, but he had blinded by his own need to try to fix everything.

As Jehan left and their show started, Enjolras found he was only halfway paying attention. He looked at Bahorel from the corner of his eye. He was wearing athletic clothing, but was clean; he must have been training clients at the gym that morning. He had a pair of noise-cancelling headphones on, though one side was pushed back along his head, presumably so he could listen for Enjolras’s impending outburst, though he looked engrossed in his work. Enjolras had been considering talking to him later, when he had thought that would be his first chance, but he wondered if he should do it now, instead of spending a few more hours working himself up.

The day he had brought the full indictment, Courfeyrac had said the prosecution wanted to start meeting with Enjolras and Grantaire in a week to start preparing them for the trial. It had inspired Enjolras to start trying to keep track of the day again, which felt alien yet familiar, but he hadn’t known how to actually go about doing it. He could’ve used the calendar on Grantaire’s phone, or asked Grantaire to use it for him, but he had abandoned that idea when his therapy that day had resulted in more prolonged crying than usual and left him with a raging headache. He thought of asking Jehan for a physical calendar of his own, but that would mean admitting to his friend that he hadn’t been keeping time before then, and while he was no longer terrified Jehan would punish him, especially for something like that, he didn’t want to disappoint them either. 

He had resolved to find another way, and he had finally dog-eared seven consecutive pages in his book, carefully unfolding one each day. He hadn’t known if Courfeyrac had meant a week as in seven days, or five days, or just as an approximation, but considering this afternoon he would unfold his final tab, Enjolras knew it had to be close. At first he had doubted himself, wondered if he had somehow lost count, since Jehan hadn’t mentioned it at all, but then Enjolras realized that didn’t mean anything because he had been deemed unsuitable to handle information too far in advance, so it made perfect sense Jehan hadn’t brought it up. It had taken quite a few deep breaths to avoid hurling his book at the wall as hard as he could, and quite a few more to acknowledge that reaction meant Jehan was probably right not to mention it.

When they had started leaving the apartment on certain afternoons, Jehan had seemed a little surprised that Enjolras had requested Bahorel to substitute as babysitter, or at least as surprised as they ever were. Sometimes Enjolras wondered how outrageous his behavior would have to be to really provoke a reaction, not that he had any interest in finding out. He had asked for Bahorel because he had indicated in the hospital that he would be willing to take on anyone who came unbidden to harass his friends, and Enjolras knew Bahorel could back that up. He didn’t really worry anyone would try to break into the apartment, especially not during the day and when others were around to keep the irrational fears at bay, but it was a comfort nonetheless. 

Bahorel had also proven at the police station that he would listen to Enjolras, even when Enjolras couldn’t clearly communicate what he wanted. It wasn’t like he really had all that many decisions to make, but he liked knowing he wouldn’t have to be completely normal for Bahorel to listen. And, most importantly, Bahorel and Grantaire had been close and Grantaire wasn’t especially afraid of him now, so Enjolras hoped Grantaire would find his presence reassuring, even if only subconsciously. Enjolras had felt gratified in his choice the first time he had accidently touched Grantaire’s arms, when there had been no time for his therapy but he hadn’t asked permission to skip it, and Bahorel hadn’t told Jehan. Enjolras had lied to himself for a day, wondering if maybe Bahorel just hadn’t realized, but when he was reminded the next day just how loud he was when he cried, still so overwhelmed at the thought of Grantaire being taken from him, he knew it had been a conscious choice.

Enjolras still wasn’t very good at starting conversations, but he first turned his head to kiss Grantaire’s forehead. This violated the unspoken rules of their arrangement, but he wanted Grantaire to know that even though Enjolras was about to go off-script, as it were, that nothing bad was going to happen. Grantaire didn’t respond at first, but then he tried to slowly draw his hand away, as if it were the languid movement of person deep asleep. Enjolras felt the first wave of panic rushing in, still unsure how to best handle Grantaire drawing away as a form of proactive rejection, but he couldn’t make himself hold on; it seemed like too much of a violation. He began to slowly rub Grantaire’s back instead.

“Bahorel?” he asked tentatively. Normal people started conversations by addressing the other person by name, which meant Enjolras still found it extremely uncomfortable. He knew he wasn’t supposed to begin by pleading or apologizing, like he had on the very rare occasions he had talked to Master of his own accord, and it felt easier to just try to skip ahead, however abnormal that was.

Bahorel finished whatever was he typing and then looked up, pushing his headphones down to his neck. “What’s up?” His tone was interested but leaned towards neutral, instead of the excruciatingly gentle one Jehan would’ve used. 

Now Enjolras had to actually ask his question. It was easier just to start with it, so he didn’t have to worry about it while pleasantries were exchanged. It was silly, because Bahorel wouldn’t have clearly heard the first time if Enjolras had just blurted it out and would’ve needed it repeated, and that would’ve taken more time than this, but, still, it was the principle of the thing. “Will you come with when we – talk to the prosecution?”

Bahorel propped his feet up on the chair across from him. Enjolras realized he had stopped petting Grantaire and restarted, trying to apologize with an extra squeeze. “Enjolras, I am more than happy to show up wherever you want me to, but I think in this case Courf or Marius would be better choices.”

Enjolras bit his lip and then forced himself to stop, though he felt worse without the sharp sting of pain. “Would Courfeyrac really go? I was – rude last time he was here.”

Bahorel laughed, but it didn’t sound malicious. “Enjolras, if Courfeyrac could not handle you saying stupid shit every so often, he wouldn’t be one of your best friends. If he seemed upset, I’m sure it was for you, not because of you.”

If Jehan had said that, Enjolras would’ve been inclined to assume he was being coddled, but he believed Bahorel. “But why can’t you come?” He tried to concentrate on not raising his voice or getting whiny. Jehan already gave him just about anything he managed to actually ask for, but that might stop if he kept acting like a child and demanding his own way in everything.

“I already said I will, Enjolras. But as your friend I feel like I should point out you would be better served by someone who actually practices law on a regular basis. Bullshitting your way through law school to please your parents is not, thank God, an actual substitute for knowing what to do out the in the real world. Yeah, I knew enough to know the basics of what the police can and can’t do to someone being interviewed of their own free will, but I don’t think the testimony I could help you prepare is going to be what the court is looking for. Though if you’d like to just sit up there and tell Montparnasse to go fuck himself, I will be the first to cheer you on.”

“He’s going to be there? At the trial?” Of course Master was going to be at the trial, Enjolras had always known that even if hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, and this time there would be no silently hiding behind his friends for comfort and protection. 

“Yeah, it fucking sucks, he does have the right to face you. Much to my dismay, Marius has informed me I have no such right to face this dick alone and in a dark alley.” Enjolras wanted to laugh, but he was too focused on the way Grantaire had curled into himself even more. Their show was still playing quietly in the background, and he felt awful for ruining their sacred snuggling time like this. He could try his best to make it up later, but it wasn’t the same. 

“What are we going to have to do?”

“With the prosecution? They’ll help you practice your answers to their questions, so it’s not a surprise. And they’ll help you practice for cross-examination, so it’s less of a surprise.”

Enjolras was tempted to curl into himself too. He had known this, known that he would have to be cross-examined, and while he didn’t know how he could get through it without exploding, he felt indescribably awful at the thought of Grantaire having to submit to the same process. It wasn’t like the entire legal system had been masterminded to try to blame the victim, but Grantaire was only starting to let go of a tiny portion of his immense guilt, and Enjolras couldn’t imagine how being questioned in front of a room of people wouldn’t undo that progress. He felt again the nauseating fear from the night he had found Grantaire bloodied and unconscious in the kitchen, and it was almost worse this time because he really couldn’t think of a way to stop this. 

There was a terrible moment when Enjolras thought he was going to have flashback, or at least a panic attack, but he clutched Grantaire to him and reminded himself that his partner was literally right there, that nothing bad was happening, that nothing bad was going to happen. Enjolras didn’t find those reminders all that helpful, but after some time, he felt like he could breathe again and his heartrate began to slow. He had to be turning red, he could feel his cheeks burning, but Bahorel was sitting just as he had been. “Sorry,” Enjolras said, turning even more red as his voice shook. 

Bahorel snorted. “Don’t be sorry. This fucking sucks.”

“How did you know what’s going to happen?” Enjolras asked when he felt slightly more normal, which was about as normal as he could get. “You said you didn’t have the training.”

“Courf told me. And Jehan and Éponine. He wanted us to be able to explain if you asked. Like I said, he’s not harboring some secret grudge against you.”

“But why do I have to ask?” Enjolras snapped, unable to stay calm and collected anymore. He knew why, but of course that didn’t stop him from being like…this. “Sorry. I know it’s just because – Jehan doesn’t want to deal with me.”

Bahorel frowned. “Enjolras, Jehan just very much wants you, and R, to be as happy as possible. It's not that they don’t want to ‘deal with you,’ they just don’t want you to spend your time stressing about things none of us can control, instead of doing whatever the fuck you actually want to do.” That wasn’t exactly how Enjolras had thought of it, but he still felt ashamed he had had to ask Bahorel to explain it so clearly. “Do you want more warning?”

Enjolras hesitated, wanting the control, but was it really control if it just made him irritable and frustrated when he could be using that time to enjoy being with Grantaire? He settled for a shrug. A silence followed, which would’ve been awkward if Bahorel hadn’t quickly realized Enjolras had nothing more to really say and put his headphones back on. The show that no one had been watching ended, and Enjolras took it as an opportunity to herd Grantaire back to their room.

He thought about waiting to follow Grantaire’s lead, but he imagined that might very well result in unnecessary heartache for his partner. Grantaire did allow Enjolras to guide him to their nest and fluff it back up around them and, while he didn’t hide himself, he stared fixedly at the floor. “I’m so sorry, Grantaire,” Enjolras said quietly after taking his partner into his arms. “I shouldn’t have done that without asking you. I was going to do it later, but I just started getting – I couldn’t handle it. Can I make it up to you now?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Grantaire’s voice was wooden and his body was stiff. 

Enjolras paused and then carefully said, “Sorry, I thought our conversation woke you.” The gnawing fear was creeping back, since Enjolras could very easily hurt Grantaire by saying the wrong thing. 

Grantaire shifted a little. His voice was almost inaudible. “Do we really have to see him again?” 

Enjolras didn’t think anything he said just then would be intelligible, so he hugged Grantaire tightly instead. Grantaire was silent for a long time, before he whispered, “Do you think he’ll – know? About – about us?”

“I don’t know.” Enjolras considered this. Master had excelled at using their…relationship, whatever it had been, to hurt them, directly and indirectly, and to control their behavior without having to closely guard both of them at all times. He must have seen how much Grantaire loved Enjolras, and how much Enjolras failed at expressing his reciprocation in the way Grantaire needed, but would he assume that dynamic continued now or would he assume that, without the constant pain and terror, Enjolras had been able to pull his head out his ass long enough to try being a good partner? Enjolras honestly didn’t know which was worse, but either way, Master could probably push all the right buttons to unsettle Grantaire with just a single look. “Do you want him to?”

It was Grantaire’s turn to think. “I – he made me think so many things – about you – if he knew you let me be around you anyway, he might think that – that you don’t know. But,” Grantaire’s voice grew even quieter, “I’m trying to believe that – everything you say, and maybe if he thinks I believe it, he won’t think I’m…you know, me.” Enjolras assumed “me” in this case stood for any number of negative, untrue adjectives. 

“Grantaire, I don’t just let you be around me. I love you. I love spending time with you. Whatever you tell me about what happened isn’t going to change that.” Grantaire squirmed a little in his arms. “I know it’s hard, but I think you’re so strong for trying. How do you want to – let him know?” 

Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t want to – to dress like this when we go? It’ll be so obvious how fucked up I – I’d rather wear real clothes.” He pulled subconsciously at the hoodie string knotted under his chin. “Could I maybe have one of your nice sweaters? Only if you want, you don’t have to.” 

“Of course,” Enjolras agreed. He hated to admit it, but he very much liked the idea of Master being helpless, the way they had been helpless, while he was forced to look at Grantaire in Enjolras’s clothes, having to sit in miserable silence and contemplate how Grantaire belonged to Enjolras now. He didn’t dare say that aloud to Grantaire, because he didn’t know how to properly explain he didn’t mean it in the sense that Grantaire was his property, just that it made him feel warm and good to know if someone saw Grantaire alone, they would still know he was Enjolras’s partner, and that Enjolras wanted them to know that. 

“Can I wear one of your sweaters?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen Grantaire wear something nice enough to be suitable for court, but considering he had a suit in their closet, he probably owned a few other things in a similar vein; if not, he could stubbornly pair whatever Grantaire had to offer with slacks and enjoy simultaneously pleasing Jehan and horrifying Courfeyrac. 

“If you want,” Grantaire said, surprised. 

“Of course I want,” Enjolras assured him. He had that same warm, good feeling when he thought about how Master would see him and have to sit there and stew about how Enjolras could publicly express his affection for Grantaire by wearing his clothes and not be able to say anything about it, let alone punish him for it. He felt dizzy for a moment imagining Master still finding a way to separate them, but he remembered the afternoons of thinking this very thought and having nothing happen. There was no way for Master to touch him in court, and if he did, somehow, it would only make their case easier. Maybe he could muster up the courage to look at Master after all if he knew he would be glowering and sulking and totally impotent. He wondered if there would be a way to ask Grantaire to wear one of his own sweaters ahead of time so that it would smell like him. 

They cuddled quietly for a long time after that, and Enjolras wished there was some way to cuddle…harder to make up for the morning. He settled for just not breaking the silence. Grantaire squirmed a little. “Do you think – is he going to know that – that we haven’t….” He trailed off.

This was going to require even more care. Enjolras hadn’t even thought about this question, but again he wished he had done a better job anticipating what Grantaire was worried about. “I can’t imagine how he could actually know,” he said carefully. It was true, but even if Master just flipped a coin to guess, he would be right half the time, and the fear of that must be terrible for Grantaire. 

“He’ll – he already knows I’m disgusting. He’ll know that I’m too dirty for you, or that I’m so – so slutty I slept with you anyway.”

“Shh, Grantaire, you’re not any of those things.”

“But I am! You’ve never – I shouldn’t be focusing on me, but I can’t stop thinking that he’s going to get to watch me talk about – what happened and he’s just going to know that he – that he ruined me for you.”

“Grantaire, you’re not ruined! Not at all.” Enjolras felt like his heart was breaking. “And there’s nothing wrong with wanting anything we do together to be enjoyable for you too. I wouldn’t want it to be any other way. Do you – do you want to have sex before the trial? Would that make you more confident?” It didn’t sound romantic on the surface, but Enjolras wanted to make this as easy as possible for Grantaire. 

“I don’t want to just use you like that,” Grantaire mumbled, totally miserable.

“Grantaire, it wouldn’t be using me. I want to, whenever you’re ready, no matter when that is. If it would help you remember that I love you, or that Master can’t control what we do, I understand.”

Grantaire fell silent for a time and then asked, “Is it alright if I draw for awhile?” He sounded a little odd, but not upset. Enjolras tried not to dwell on it. Grantaire had already made himself so vulnerable, that pushing it was unlikely to help. He could be patient until Grantaire was ready to talk more. He did feel a little nervous at the thought that they might have sex sooner than later after all, but it was much more pleasant than his normal bouts of anxiety. There was so much potential for it to go terribly wrong, but he trusted Grantaire would take care of him, and he had to trust that he would do his best to take care of Grantaire in turn.

He settled next to his partner in the closet and picked up his book. It was still deeply humiliating that the only way he could concentrate enough to read was by using his bookmark as a guide, like he was a child just starting out instead of a college graduate, and while he was grateful Grantaire never mentioned, he didn’t know what he was going to do if he had to read anything of length in front of others. He might be able to hide it during law school, if he were careful to only study by himself, but he didn’t how he could possibly keep it from Courfeyrac and Marius if they still let him work with them once he graduated. 

“Enjolras?” He looked up, but Grantaire was staring at his sketchbook. Then he suddenly shoved it at Enjolras, who barely caught it. The open page featured a large drawing of Enjolras, sitting in this very spot and reading. He had seen some of Grantaire’s work before, usually just what Grantaire shared with their group or posted online, so he had some general idea of how talented Grantaire was, but there was something especially breath-taking in knowing Grantaire had used these afternoons to draw him like this. “This is – really wonderful, Grantaire. You’re so talented. I’m – flattered.” He looked over at his partner, who had his head turned away, though Enjolras could still tell he was blushing. “Grantaire, thank you for showing this to me. That was really brave.” He rubbed Grantaire’s shins with one hand, carefully holding the sketchbook in the other.

Grantaire still didn’t turn back, so Enjolras kept rubbing and went back to studying the drawing. Grantaire had depicted him as merely deep in thought, as opposed to hyper-focused on a relatively simple task, and he had moved Enjolras’s bookmark from the page to his hand, tucked between the back cover and his palm. He looked more closely at that hand and realized Grantaire had left out the scars on his wrists. 

He looked down at his actual arms. Grantaire’s sweater sleeves were too short to really cover his wrists, unless his arms hung loose at his sides, and there were on full display now. He didn’t know if he should be more ashamed or make more of an effort to cover them, but it honestly just didn’t occur to him. The scars had built up over time, a little bit of rope burn left behind each time Master had bound him roughly, and he spent so much time using his hands to work, that he had just grown accustomed to them and had stopped noticing. But of course Grantaire wouldn’t have stopped, as focused as he had been on soothing Enjolras’s hurts, and he had decided to pretend they weren’t there. “Is this – how you see me?”

“Yes.” Grantaire sounded on the verge of tears and when he finally turned to look at his partner, Enjolras could see that he was. “That’s why I shouldn’t be thinking about sleeping with you! That’s you, who you really are, but I’m just – this.” Grantaire flailed his arm around to gesture at himself.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras reached out and gently took one of Grantaire’s hands and put it on his wrists. “What happened, it – it changed me too. I’m sorry I never realized how you felt about me, before, or that I wasn’t always as kind as I should have been. If it helps to draw me like this, I don’t mind, but I don’t want you just…waiting for me to – abandon you. I’m not just going to wake up one day and be able to act like none of this ever happened. And I’m never going to just pretend our relationship now isn’t real.” He looked down at the sketch again, seeing the love and devotion Grantaire had put into it, into drawing Enjolras as he adored him, not as he actually was. No wonder Grantaire was under so much strain.

“If I asked you to draw something for me, would – would that be alright?” Enjolras felt a little better for essentially asking for a commission when he had nothing to offer as compensation, or that Grantaire might assume Enjolras’s continued affection was contingent upon satisfactory completion.

“What is it?” Grantaire looked up, deeply suspicious. 

“Would you – would you maybe draw something of the two of us together? Now?” Grantaire kept staring at him. Enjolras turned to the next blank page in the sketchbook and handed it back, his partner only taking it reluctantly. “Maybe it’s an incredibly stupid idea, I just thought, maybe, it would – help you remember that I love you.” 

Grantaire swallowed a few times and then nodded. He picked up his pencil, but before he could start, Enjolras leaned forward to brush their noses together. He didn’t want Grantaire to get confused and think Enjolras was only wanted to kiss him because he had agreed, but he also couldn’t resist. Grantaire hesitated for a moment, and then he very gently kissed Enjolras on the mouth.


	54. Chapter Fifty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather long chapter this time, but I wanted to keep it all together. I'm guessing if you've made it this far, you probably don't mind!

“I feel like we should practice wearing real clothes,” Enjolras said, frowning at the closet like he actually did not want to practice. Grantaire was inclined to agree. He was wearing a fucking onesie, which didn’t even rank on a list of complicated clothing, but it still made him feel safe to be so completely covered, especially because even it was ripped off of him, he was still fully clothed underneath. But he couldn’t make a joke, even to himself, about starting a new fashion trend, because he didn’t want to embarrass Enjolras in court so completely. Grantaire was already a hot mess, he didn’t need to make it worse by testifying in pajamas. He tried to memorize how good his onesie felt, so that he could draw on in later when he inevitably freaked out, as Enjolras rustled around, eventually finding a pair of Grantaire’s jeans, one of the few button-downs Grantaire owned, and one of his own sweaters. He tentatively held the pile out.

“I’m going to need a belt,” Grantaire said softly. Sure, he had been slowly continuing to put on weight, Jehan saw to that, but there was still no way he was going to be able to wear these pants without one, not when he still relied on the strings of his pajama pants to keep those on. Enjolras’s face went taut, so Grantaire tucked his clothes under one arm and went through the dresser until he found the drawer that held their belts, held neatly off to one side by a divider. He dug around until he found one made of cloth. If someone were to use it to hit Enjolras with the intention of hurting him, it would definitely do the job, but Grantaire hoped it wouldn’t be as triggering as one made of leather. He found another and set it on top the dresser. It would probably fit Enjolras well enough, and it would keep him from having to dig around in a whole pile of the feared implements. 

“Sorry,” Enjolras said quietly when Grantaire reemerged. “I know you would never – And I know no one else is going to, it’s just-”

“It’s alright,” Grantaire assured him, which seemed ridiculous, because how could Enjolras feel bad worrying about one unlikely thing when Grantaire spent almost all his time worrying over a whole list of unlikely things? Case in point: when he had finished showering, now allowed to do so alone once again, since he had managed to go long enough without killing himself his privileges had been reinstated, dressing had been sort of awkward, with so many new steps, like tucking in the button-down and fastening his belt and adjusting the back of his collar on top of Enjolras’s sweater, but when he went to put his hood on out of sheer habit, his stomach dropped out when he realized that, of course, nice sweaters did not have hoods, or any other way of covering the wearer’s head. He knew no one was going to touch his hair, that if anyone did Enjolras would probably remove their hands from their arms posthaste, but that didn’t stop the welling panic. He fled to the bedroom, not wanting anyone to come investigate why he had been in the bathroom so long, pajamas pinned under one arm so he could cover his head with both hands.

Enjolras looked up when he entered and immediately saw the problem. Grantaire heard him rummaging around in the dresser again, and he returned with a beanie. As much as Grantaire wanted to jam it on his head, he forced himself to put it on the normal way, even though it left some of his hair exposed. (At least part of it was just the front, the part he liked Enjolras to touch, so maybe if he thought about that enough, he wouldn’t panic.) This whole thing was stupid. It wasn’t like his hood had ever presented a real obstacle. It would’ve taken less than a second for someone to yank it off and expose him and touch him. This beanie was no different. Enjolras stepped forward and very carefully adjusted it and then kissed his forehead. “Better?” Grantaire nodded, trying not fall apart.

That was harder than expected when he managed to look up and saw the shy way Enjolras was looking at him, and the way he was blushing. “You look – cute,” Enjolras said when he noticed that Grantaire had noticed. Grantaire didn’t feel particularly cute, but before he could argue the point, Enjolras gave him a brief kiss on the mouth and disappeared for his own shower. 

Master Bahorel and Jehan were drinking tea in the kitchen when Enjolras led them out, an arm around Grantaire’s waist, while Master de Courfeyrac sat at the table, eating breakfast. Grantaire froze, feeling naked in his presence with so much of his hair showing and no comforter around him, just waiting for Master de Courfeyrac to wrestle him out of Enjolras’s grip and take him to another room. Enjolras glanced between the two of them, as Master de Courfeyrac looked first confused, then hurt for the briefest of moments, and finally concerned. Before Enjolras could erupt, Jehan set their mug down on the counter and meandered over to their plants, like everything was completely normal, except they lightly touched Master de Courfeyrac’s back as they passed. “Enjolras, I’m not going to touch Grantaire. I would never do something like that.” He sounded pained, offended by the very idea. 

“You’re not allowed to,” Enjolras said, much less explosively than Grantaire would’ve expected, though he made a point of adjusting Grantaire’s perfectly situated beanie and glaring at Master de Courfeyrac. Master Bahorel got them both plates of food, and when Jehan wandered back, they gave Master de Courfeyrac a short shoulder squeeze. When they got ready to leave, Grantaire was allowed to wear his own winter coat for the first time. He didn’t know if this was a reward for not making too much of a fuss or because he was dressed like a normal person or if someone somewhere (probably Dr. Joly or Dr. Combeferre) had decided he had regained enough weight. Or maybe it was just the extra bit of warmth in the air, evidenced by Master Bahorel and Master de Courfeyrac’s light jackets and Jehan’s…poncho, though Grantaire wasn’t exactly sure that’s really what it was. Master de Courfeyrac made sure to get into the front seat of the waiting taxi immediately, so while Enjolras still hung protectively on to Grantaire as the rest of them crammed into the back, he didn’t panic.

The ride was longer than usual but otherwise uneventful. Grantaire thought he should probably start worrying about what this appointment was going to be like (honestly, though, he should’ve started worrying much earlier, because was it ever really too early to worry about something?) but he mostly just thought about how strange it was to be dressed like this. If he were to get out and walk down the street, no one would suspect anything was wrong with him. (Not that anyone had paid much attention when Jehan took them out in pajamas, with Grantaire bundled in his comforter, but he would really blend in now.) It hadn’t been that strange transitioning to wearing clothes full-time, which was a bit odd when he thought about it, but Master had let him dress sometimes, though usually not just out of the goodness of his heart, and he had been unconscious in the hospital and then even more suggestable to Enjolras’s desires than usual, and being allowed to sit quietly in bed and snuggle with him had felt far stranger than being allowed to wear pajamas. But now, normal clothes meant he was maybe a little bit closer to having a normal life, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that would change things between him and Enjolras, not that he would blame Enjolras. But when Enjolras noticed Grantaire shifting in discomfort, he glanced around and then kissed him on the temple, like everything was still the same.

Grantaire was glad for that, because when they arrived at the non-descript office building, he would’ve been tempted to bolt without Enjolras’s strong grip on his hand. Master de Courfeyrac spoke to the receptionist, and they were quickly shown to a large conference room, two women in suits flipping through some papers and conferring with each other at the table. While Master de Courfeyrac shook their hands and spoke to them quietly, the receptionist showed Master Bahorel and Jehan into a small room across the hall, just large enough for the two of them. “We’re right here if you need anything,” Jehan said softly.

“Courf knows what he’s doing,” added Master Bahorel. “But, yeah, just give a shout if you need us.” Grantaire wondered if he could give a shout right now, before he had to talk about anything, but he followed as Enjolras led him back and stared at his lap, trying to distract himself by thinking about how he was still wearing Enjolras’s clothes. But then he started thinking about how he’d be doing this is in front of Master, and he wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. (Most of him thought worse, but a very small part of him could see better. It was a way for Enjolras to defy Master through Grantaire, which would make Enjolras happy and maybe even a little proud of Grantaire for actually doing something.) 

“Hello, Enjolras. Hello, Grantaire,” said the older of the two women, probably the one in charge, after they sat down. “It’s nice to finally meet both of you. We know this is really stressful and difficult for you, and we both want to commend you on continuing forward despite that. It’s very brave, and we’re committed to getting you justice.” She gestured to Master de Courfeyrac, who was sitting at the side of the table and nodding along enthusiastically. “As much as we would like there to be, there’s unfortunately no easy way to do this, but your friend has suggested we just use this first session to talk generally about what’s going to happen and to address any concerns you might have.” The younger woman pulled two manila folders out of her pile, and after checking the top sheets of each one, pushed them over the table. “We’ve typed up an outline of our opening statement and an outline of the narrative we would like to shape with your testimony. Courfeyrac suggested you might prefer to read it in private before we go over it together.” Enjolras shot a suspicious look at Master de Courfeyrac, but then he nodded and stacked the folders together. 

The prosecutor began to explain the general timeline of how the trial would go, starting with opening statements from both sides, followed by him and Enjolras being questioned, which they would practice until the two of them were comfortable, but not to the point of rote memorization, followed by cross-examination. Enjolras nodded every so often, like it made sense to him, which it probably did, but Grantaire was grateful Enjolras never let go of his hand. When the prosecutor finished talking, she waited a minute and then prompted, “Now, what sort of questions do you have? And trust me, in this case, there really is no such thing as a stupid question. We all want the same thing.” Enjolras’s face tightened at that. 

“We all want to see Montparnasse given the harshest punishment possible,” Master de Courfeyrac clarified, but Enjolras paused before nodding jerkily. If the system actually worked and sent Master to prison for close to the rest of his life, Grantaire would be impressed, but he knew Enjolras would not consider a sentence of de facto life imprisonment to be the same as death, no matter how impossible such a thing was. 

“He’s – he’s going to be there, isn’t he?” Enjolras asked, trying to maintain eye contact with the prosecutors and failing after a few seconds. 

“Yes, Montparnasse will be at the trial the whole time. I know that sounds intimidating, but we can practice not looking in his direction. He’s always going to be in the same place when you’re testifying, and you can certainly just look at us or the jury or the crowd the whole time. You don’t ever have to look at him if you don’t want to.”

“What do you mean the crowd?” Enjolras asked sharply.

“We tried to argue to have the courtroom closed,” the younger prosecutor said, “but it’s almost impossible to have a trial completely private like that. We did succeed in having the media barred, and we can take you in a private way so you’ll never have to deal with reporters or anyone else hounding you.”

“But anyone can come and watch?” 

“Yes, but there’s obviously limited seating. Your friends,” she smiled at Master de Courfeyrac, “have all expressed an interest in supporting you, and we’ll make sure they all have spots.”

“No,” Grantaire said, overly loud, before he could stop himself. He would, literally, rather die than have everyone sitting there listening to him talk through what had happened. A bunch of anonymous strangers was bad enough, but everyone he knew?

“Shh, it’s alright. I won’t let them if you don’t want it,” Enjolras said, rubbing his back, turning all his attention to Grantaire. 

“Grantaire,” said Master de Courfeyrac carefully, though he was looking more at Enjolras, like he might explode at any moment, which wasn’t necessarily an inaccurate assess,ent, “we’re not going to force you to have us there, but are you sure you wouldn’t like someone there to help support you?” There was a long pause, and Grantaire said nothing. “Joly is going to be testifying about your – about the medical side. I know he would be more than happy to be there when you testify, if it would help.” Grantaire buried his face in his hands and tried not to cry. If he had let himself think about what must have happened in the hospital, he would’ve already guessed this. Dr. Combeferre knew all about his scars, which meant someone had examined him internally, and since Dr. Joly had seemed to be his doctor, it must have been him. And since neither Grantaire nor Enjolras had apparently been in any state to talk when they were admitted, that meant Dr. Joly must have examined the rest of him, examined Grantaire’s disgusting body and noted all the things that had been done to it to make it even more disgusting, and and and - 

The loop ran over and over in his mind, even as Enjolras helped him stand and pushed him towards a nearby bathroom, collecting Jehan along the way and practically ordering them to stand guard outside and be sure they were left alone. He did feel better once he was with Enjolras, a solid door and a determined Jehan protecting them, in his arms, being gently rocked like a small child and told all sorts of nice things. “Sorry,” he mumbled, when he felt like he could.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Enjolras assured him. “Grantaire, this is supposed to be about making the choices we actually want, for once. If you don’t want to Joly there, even if he wouldn’t be hearing anything new, then that’s your right. And I’ll make sure they listen to you. I’ll make sure no one is there.” Grantaire didn’t like the thought of Enjolras standing up to everyone at once, but he sounded so fierce, Grantaire knew he would do it. 

“I’m scared to be alone,” Grantiare admitted, “but I’m scared for him, for anyone, to hear.” He swallowed. “What if – what if he tells?”

Enjolras frowned. “The transcript will be public record, there would be no special incentive for him to tell anyone. If you’re worried – Grantaire, I’m not leaving you, no matter what anyone tells me. I promise.” Grantaire knew he shouldn’t listen to such promises, because it wouldn’t be fair to lock Enjolras in like that, but it did make him feel safer, a little. 

“What do you want?” Grantaire asked.

“When I testify? I don’t know. I guess I would like everyone there, so he can see I’m not terrified of them anymore. Maybe he’ll think I’m…better than I actually am.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.” Enjolras looked at him very intently, and Grantaire wished he hadn’t said anything. “Grantaire, it’s your choice. I just want you to be comfortable, or at least as comfortable as possible. Whatever you need.” Grantaire didn’t know how to say it was too hard to choose on his own, that at least if he knew he was pleasing Enjolras, he could more easily bear whatever awful consequences his choice inevitably had. “Alright,” Enjolras acquiesced when Grantaire didn’t offer a suggestion, sounding sad instead of exasperated, “I know it must have been hard when we were – when you were alone and waiting, and maybe it would be, I don’t know, helpful to have someone there with you? If you feel fine, you can pretend Joly isn’t there, but if you need a reminder that you’re safe and valued and loved, you can look at him and try to remember. I’m sure if Joly offered, he’s prepared to be there for you, no matter what he hears.”

That was sound logic, even if it was still terrifying. “You’re not going to argue that you should be there?” Grantaire asked very quietly.

Enjolras softened. “No. Grantaire, believe me, if I could, I would sit there, right with you, and hold you the whole time and not let you forget for one second that I love you, and even if that were allowed, that’s not what you want, and I’m trying to accept that. I don’t want to make this harder on you.” He kissed Grantaire’s forehead again for good measure.

Grantaire slumped. “Alright. He can come.” He still felt rather dubious about the whole thing, but Enjolras’s brilliant smile helped make up for it. Enjolras returned him to the conference room, even managing to thank Jehan on the way, and immediately directed the conversation back to his own questions, taking the focus off Grantaire’s meltdown. Enjolras confirmed that he and Grantaire would be allowed to wear each other’s clothes, that the prosecutors would proactively ask for short breaks if it all got too overwhelming, that Master would not have any possible chance of touching them (though the prosecutors seemed a little too excited about that idea, probably because it would make their jobs infinitely easier if something like that happened,) that he and Grantaire could have a private room set aside for their personal use. Grantaire imagined Master de Courfeyrac might have asked some of these things on their behalf if Enjolras hadn’t, but he felt much safer with Enjolras in charge. When there were no more questions, they were dismissed until the next day. Grantaire was surprised it was only early afternoon when they emerged from the building. It felt like a lifetime had passed.

Master de Courfeyrac and Master Bahorel hailed their own cab to go somewhere, and Grantaire was grateful to sit alone with Enjolras in the back of the one Jehan waved down for them. He thought about what Enjolras had said, how they could make their own choices now, but it was still unsettling to think about for long. He wanted to choose to go the bedroom when they returned, but Jehan was not satisfied until they had some toast and juice for a light lunch. “I hope you can relax after this morning,” they said before releasing them, which was hopefully code that Enjolras didn’t need to do his therapy that day.

“I want to change,” Grantaire said, as soon as Enjolras shut the door. If he was supposed to start making choices, that’s one he definitely wanted to make. 

“Of course,” said Enjolras, who grabbed his own pajamas and retreated to the bookcase, his back to Grantaire. Grantaire was amazed how much better he felt once he was dressed in a comfortable base layer, and how much better after that he felt as he zipped a onesie over that, and how even much better he felt as tugged one of Enjolras’s hoodie’s on over that. He glanced cautiously over his shoulder, but Enjolras had already changed and was busy pretending to look at all the books he hadn’t yet touched. Grantaire went to put his hood on, when he realized his beanie had gotten stuck under his T-shirt, and he couldn’t reach it.

“Um,” he said coherently.

Enjolras looked up, surprised to see Grantaire’s head uncovered, and then he realized what had happened as Grantaire continued to flail his arms around. “Hold still,” he said, gentle, and then he reached down Grantaire’s back to retrieve the errant beanie, his fingertips brushing Grantaire’s bare skin as he did so. Grantaire shivered and blushed. When Enjolras had set the hat down and went to do his hood for him, he put his hands on Enjolras’s. “You don’t need to.” Enjolras looked at him strangely but then let go and smiled at him. That made the nerves worth it. 

“Do you want to take a nap?” 

“I’m too wound up,” Grantaire admitted. He knew if he laid down with Enjolras, he would stay awake and replay the morning over and over in his mind. (And Enjolras couldn’t give him those soft, tender looks if his eyes were closed.) 

“Do you want draw then? I can read what they gave us and – summarize it for you, if that would easier.” Grantaire wondered what he had done to deserve to have someone as amazing as Enjolras want to be with him, of all people. Even if he were somehow one in a million (ha, now that was funny,) Enjolras could pick from 7,000 Grantaires and get the same thing. Grantaire didn’t think he could even compete with half of another person. 

They settled into the closet, and Grantaire flipped to a clean page of his sketchbook, as Enjolras opened one of the file folders, taking the last sheet and flipping it over and using it mark his line. He thought about what Enjolras had asked him to do. He had drawn Enjolras countless times, and he had drawn himself a fair amount, and he had obviously included the two of them in the same pieces, as the painting in the family room showed. But he knew, somehow, that he had never drawn just the two of them together. He had a feeling this had been a rule of his. He knew he could access a virtually limitless bank of Enjolras fantasies, sexual and romantic and domestic and everything thing in between, in his mind, but it would’ve been wrong to commit them to paper. And now Enjolras wanted him to do exactly that. He slid his feet forward to bump Enjolras’s leg, and he looked up and smiled at Grantaire in response. 

Trying not to think too hard about it, Grantaire started to draw the two of them cuddling on the sofa. He started to think about what Master would say if he knew Grantaire was doing this, but he looked up at Enjolras whenever those thoughts got too loud, and it helped him remember he was choosing to do this, because doing this made Enjolras happy, and that was all that really mattered. He felt a little jolt of adrenaline when he realized he was doing this, something he had forbidden himself, something Master would’ve forbidden him, and no one was stopping him. He could draw nothing but him and Enjolras together for the rest of his life (though that would be fairly impractical whenever they had to start supporting themselves) and no one could stop him. It was only a rough sketch, certainly not his most polished work, but when Enjolras set aside the folder, Grantaire couldn’t help but shyly hand him the sketchbook.

Enjolras looked at it for a long time, and Grantaire was starting to worry Enjolras really might not like it, and he was feeling more and more exposed without his hood on. But Enjolras ran his finger up and down the margin of the paper and then looked up, staring so intently but tenderly at Grantaire, before leaning in to kiss him on the mouth, a little longer and more firmly than normal, and Grantaire suddenly felt a little breathless with anticipation. He knew this was wrong, he shouldn’t, but he if he could choose his clothes, and what his court experience was like, and what he drew, why couldn’t he choose this? He wanted to be with Enjolras. And, for his part, Enjolras had just sat there a read a summary of what had happened to Grantaire, and he apparently still wanted him. When Enjolras pulled away, his eyes were partially dilated, and he started to tremble slightly, “What’s wrong?” Grantaire took Enjolras’s hands and could feel them continue to shake in his own. Was he somehow being the one to do the pressuring? 

But Enjolras gave him a wobbly smile. “Just a little nervous. I’ve – I’ve never done this before.” He swallowed visibly. “And it’s, you know, with you.” Grantaire frowned as he considered that. Was Enjolras extra nervous because Grantaire was a fucking mess? Because Grantaire was far more experienced? Maybe this had been a bad idea. Enjolras could go on and on about how virginity was a social construct, but it was still a big deal to have sex for the first time. “No, Grantaire, that came out wrong. I mean that I really, really love you, and I know I don’t know what I’m doing, but I - I want to be good for you too.” 

“Enjolras, you hardly have anything to worry about. Just being with you at all is, fuck, it’s like a dream.” The dream continued because Enjolras smiled a little more and kissed Grantaire’s forehead. “What - do you have any ideas of what you want?” He wondered what Enjolras actually thought about when it came to sex. Did he fantasize? Did he have a guess what it would be like? How deep into the bowels of the Internet had he gone to explore? Or was he a total blank slate?

“Nothing that makes you uncomfortable,” Enjolras said quickly, because of course he did. “But otherwise, I - I just don’t know, what I don’t know.” Fuck. Grantaire had certainly fantasized, though he didn’t really want to dwell on that at the moment. Enjolras probably wouldn’t do this if Grantaire had to take a break to cry in the closet. Those fantasies wouldn’t even be that useful, because they had always hand-waved away Enjolras’s presumed inexperience and skipped right ahead to the good parts. Fantasy Enjolras had always been able to make up for his lack of knowledge through sheer force of will. 

OK, he had to come at this a different way. He completely, totally, definitely wanted this, even if it scared the shit out of him. And why was that? He wanted to make Enjolras happy. And what made Enjolras happy? While he hadn’t shown any preoccupation with sex, he did seem to love expressing affection physically. Grantaire could start there and try to buy some more time to figure out the best course of action. He leaned up to kiss Enjolras on the mouth and then guided him to sit comfortably in their nest, close enough to the bed that Grantaire would be able to lean against the side for support. “I’m just going to grab - some stuff.” Hopefully he wasn’t rushing in too fast for Enjolras with all this sexy talk. 

“Alright.” Enjolras looked some weird combination of bemused and smitten, and Grantaire felt a non-weird confusion that this was directed his way as he fumbled around the drawer of Enjolras’s nightstand. He grabbed a bottle of lube and hesitated over the condoms, before deciding any required clean-up would be better than denying skin-on-skin contact to Enjolras for his first time. He grabbed the entire box of tissues just to be safe. 

He went back to Enjolras and settled in behind him, setting everything off to the side. He paused and then spread his legs and pulled Enjolras closer, taking care to keep their hips from actually touching. Despite being charged with the most important task in the universe, he was half-hard and knew his shame might overwhelm this relatively calm beginning if Enjolras felt it. Grantaire lifted his hands and put them gently on Enjolras’s back. The knit fabric of his own sweater was so thick a back rub like this might not feel good for either of them, so he slowly put his hand at the hem of Enjolras’s shirt, where the soft cotton was poking out. “Alright?” 

“Y-yeah.” Grantaire slid his hands between layers and could feel Enjolras still shaking. “Do you - I could take this off? If you want?” 

“It wouldn’t be fair,” Grantaire said quietly. He really would lose it if he had to strip, and he couldn’t ask Enjolras for something more than he himself could give. He had of course seen him naked many times before, but not like this. 

“It doesn’t have to be fair,” Enjolras responded, but he let the subject drop. There were still some small mercies in the world. Grantaire started to rub Enjolras’s back, alternating it with brief moments of massage when he felt a particularly hard knot. Enjolras slowly relaxed as Grantaire worked, the trembling slowing and then ceasing altogether. When Grantaire applied just the right amount of pressure with his thumbs to a stubborn pair of spots near Enjolras’s spine, Enjolras sighed and slumped forward. 

Grantaire slipped his hands back to Enjolras’s waist and plucked at the shirt hem. “Alright?” Enjolras hummed contentedly in reply. Maybe this would be enough for him, no orgasm required. Grantaire started to repeat his previous actions, though he slowed after his first pass, feeling the various scars and welts and lumps on Enjolras’s back, feeling a record of every time he had failed to help Enjolras mapped out under his hands. 

Enjolras’s head rose a little from where it had fallen forward. “Grantaire, it doesn’t hurt anymore. You took such good care of me, no matter how stupid I was. You take such good care of me now.” Grantaire wasn’t sure how true that was, but he resumed his task anyway. The more relaxed Enjolras got, the bigger the knot in Grantaire’s stomach grew. When Enjolras started emitting a low hum every so often, Grantaire switched to softly tickling Enjolras’s back with his fingertips. After a few minutes of that, Enjolras started to wiggle pleasantly, so unlike the nervous trembling of earlier. Grantaire took a deep breath in lieu of vomiting. 

He cautiously removed his hands and settled them on Enjolras’s hips. Enjolras shifted a little. “Can I lean against you?” he asked, voice huskier than Grantaire had ever heard it. It made his own cock jump in his pants. Grantaire felt slightly high now, knowing he was the one who had made Enjolras feel this way, and that no one else had ever done this for him, and that was probably what gave him the courage to pull Enjolras in, though not enough to verbalize it. There was no way Enjolras couldn’t feel him, but he just made another happy sound and let Grantaire take most of his weight. 

Grantaire slowly slid his hand to Enjolras’s stomach. There was no way Enjolras couldn’t hear his heart pounding. There was no way the whole world didn’t hear it. “Alright?” he checked again as he slid his hand to Enjolras’s waistband. 

Enjolras nodded and then added, “Yes,” rather breathlessly, for good measure. Grantaire turned his head to the side, resting his temple on Enjolras’s back, so that there would be no doubt that he was peeking out of turn, and after another deep breath to settle himself, he slipped his hand into Enjolras’s pants. He was very hard and very wet with precome, and very loud when Grantaire wrapped a hand around him. They both froze automatically, and Grantaire’s mind went blank with horror. He had no idea how he would explain this if Jehan came to investigate. But they did not, and as he regained the ability to hear things that weren’t the racing of his own pulse in his ears, he realized they weren’t going to. He only had to wonder for a moment if Enjolras wished to continue, when he rocked his hips slowly, almost shyly, up into Grantaire’s hand. 

Grantaire gently bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded, and by grounded he meant not coming in his pants just from taking care of Enjolras. He stroked Enjolras a few times, and his original intention had been to ask Enjolras if he wanted lube, but Enjolras was panting and thrusting in rhythm with Grantaire’s hand, letting out a happy, though much quieter, moan when Grantaire increased the pace, and Grantaire didn’t want to torture Enjolras by stopping, however briefly. Instead, he groped blindly for the tissue box and managed to pull out a handful. It only took a few more tugs, and Enjolras was shuddering under Grantaire’s hands. Grantaire stroked him through it and gently wiped him clean, biting his cheek again as he did so. He worried shame was about to overwhelm him, without a task to occupy himself, but he was too distracted by holding a limp, floppy Enjolras in his arms, and then by stroking his hair with one hand, which earned him a soft sigh and a contented attempt to burrow even deeper. 

After Enjolras caught his breath, Grantaire thought he might have dozed off, but his eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Grantaire so softly and warmly that the squirming Grantaire did had nothing to do with his still rather pressing erection. “That was really nice, Grantaire,” he said, sounding more like himself, but still a little dreamy. Grantaire was mostly thankful he hadn’t to ask, because the thought of waiting to hear if the answer was no would’ve been too much to bear. Enjolras blinked a few times and looked more focused afterwards. “What would you like?” He obviously felt Grantaire still pressing against him, so Grantaire couldn’t hide, even if he really would’ve been content if this were their ending point. Now there was plenty of time for him to still fuck it all up.

“I – I don’t want you to – I can just-”

“Here, trade places with me?” Enjolras offered, though his voice was firm enough Grantaire knew he wouldn’t just be allowed to deny himself. That would be too easy. When Grantaire didn’t decline the invitation-order, Enjolras very carefully rearranged them, though his touch was light enough Grantaire could’ve gotten up and walked away without a struggle, had he wanted to. But once he was sitting in between Enjolras’s legs and getting kissed on the back of his neck, he found he really, really didn’t want to. Trust Enjolras to get a single handjob and then think he could just take charge from there. 

It seemed silly to use lube when he was already so close, but it made him a little dizzy to know it was suddenly his choice, and that if he wanted it, he could have it. Nothing came out when he tried to squirt a little onto his fingers, and it was a decidedly unsexy moment when he had to unscrew the cap and wrestle off the safety seal, but all Enjolras did was pause while Grantaire fumbled around, and then resumed his teasing when Grantaire had finally managed to get some out and wriggle his arm out of his sleeve and into his onesie, curling his hand so he didn’t smear lube all over everything. He was pretty sure he could’ve come the instant he touched himself, if he hadn’t concentrated very hard on not doing so, because that would be embarrassing as fuck, and he wanted a bit of a longer memory, in case Enjolras never wanted to do this again. He flailed and somehow got his other arm, along with a wad of tissues, inside his onesie as well. He was still determined to last more than five seconds, but when Enjolras tentatively reached up and ran a finger over the shell of his ear, Grantaire came. 

It was probably the…weirdest orgasm he had ever had. On the one hand, his mind felt blank, overcome by the pleasure that was unmarred by pain or humiliation or fear or threat or worry, but on the other, he felt hyper-aware of his back pressed against Enjolras’s front and the warmth of Enjolras’s body and the heat of Enjolras’s breath along the side of his head and the soothing way Enjolras’s fingers were petting his side. He felt hazy, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to clean himself up or get his arms back out or toss the soiled tissues aside or end up laying in a mound of blankets face-to-face with Enjolras. Well, that last part was probably done by Enjolras himself. 

He slowly became aware of Enjolras touching his curls and felt more like an actual person and not a disembodied spirit. “How are you feeling?” Enjolras asked quietly, probably aiming for gentle but coming out more like cautious. 

Grantaire tried to think about his answer, not wanting Enjolras’s experience to be ruined by all his issues. He found he felt a little teary but not really sad or ashamed, not like he had been afraid he would be. He had made Enjolras happy, he had made him feel good, he had done something special for him no one else in existence had done for him or could ever do again, not exactly, and that was more than enough to keep Master from intruding on his thoughts, mostly. But still, if Enjolras were to get up and leave, even for a few minutes, he thought he would burst into tears. Instead of revealing how needy he actually was, Grantaire settled for, “This is nice,” but since his voice shook a little, Enjolras wasn’t completely fooled and pulled Grantaire flush against him, Grantaire’s head resting on his heart, and then fussed with the blankets more than necessary. 

“Better?” Enjolras prompted when he had finished, and Grantaire nodded wordlessly. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, he really did. Did Enjolras want to do this again? What had he liked? What hadn’t he liked? What would he like Grantaire to try next time, if there was a next time? But Enjolras was a warm and surprisingly comfortable pillow, and even as the weird, sad, shaky feeling receded a little, it was still easier for Grantaire to just close his eyes and save the conversation for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time attempting to write smut, I hope it wasn't too disappointing. Credit to anyone who writes it - it's hard!


	55. Chapter Fifty-five

Enjolras had been awake for some time, but Grantaire was still fast asleep. Though he was naturally more relaxed in unconsciousness, his partner’s hands were still loosely curled around the sweater Enjolras was wearing, and his head was still resting on his heart. Even though Grantaire had positioned himself this way, Enjolras still wasn’t sure if he should enjoy it, having him so close and clingy, since the only other time Grantaire had only done this was under the influence of drugs. And now, in the emotional post-coital aftermath.

It had scared Enjolras, that after what seemed to be an enjoyable encounter for his partner, Grantaire had been so shaky and teary, and Enjolras hadn’t know what to do, other than his go-to strategy of providing blankets and closeness. He wanted so much to take care of Grantaire the way Grantaire had taken care of him, but he lacked Grantaire’s innate talent. 

Enjolras hadn’t really known what to expect. It wasn’t like he was totally clueless, not after spending so much time around Courfeyrac, or even just existing in the world as a teenager, but whenever he had fantasized, though that seemed like a lifetime ago, he had never bothered to include another person. Perhaps an invisible, anonymous source stood in when he wanted to imagine something in particular, but actual, real people had been far from his thoughts. Wondering what it would be like to have sex with another person had been more of an intellectual exercise than an erotic one, and he had had plenty of other things to think about instead.

Enjolras had guessed there would probably be more to it than Grantaire just shoving his hand into his pants, and not only had he been correct, it had been even nicer than he could’ve imagined. He had never doubted Grantaire would know what to do, would know what would make him feel good, but the slow, gentle back rub had soothed his nerves and made him feel so cared for and close to his partner. He had sort of expected foreplay would be...intense, or at least messy, but that had been perfect.

As had Grantaire’s hand around him, jerking him off in just the right rhythm with just the right pressure. 

Grantaire mumbled something in his sleep, twisting a little, and Enjolras stroked his forehead until he settled again. His hood was still off, bunched up at his shoulders, and Enjolras was humbled to think again about how brave and strong Grantaire had been to make himself so very vulnerable. 

He had been sad, though not particularly surprised, when Grantaire had not wanted to be touched, but, as much as he approved of Grantaire’s desire for equality, he hated that Grantaire didn’t feel like he deserved to see Enjolras undressed, since he couldn’t reciprocate. The thought of choosing to be naked in front of Grantaire specifically to please him sexually made Enjolras nervous, but with the same twinge of excitement from earlier. But he vowed he wasn’t going to push, especially not on anything Grantaire had specifically declined, whether he agreed with his partner’s reasoning or not. Grantaire was generally willing to do things he didn’t want if he thought Enjolras wanted it, and Enjolras did not want that to seep in to their sex. Even if he desired end was completely different, he would be no better than Master if he used the same means.

No wonder Grantaire was so tired. The morning had already been so stressful, and the afternoon must have been equally, if not more, terrifying. Enjolras tucked the blankets more snugly around Grantaire, wishing he could protect him from all his fears. He pushed Grantaire’s curls back from his face and thought again of proposing. He knew it wasn’t the right time, he could see that Grantaire needed to already feel satisfactorily secure before he would accept a proposal, but it was still hard for Enjolras not to just bring it up. He wondered what exactly he could do to make Grantaire feel that secure. He was doing his best to accept that it wasn’t going to happen overnight, that Grantaire would not wake up one morning and suddenly realize Enjolras really wasn’t going anywhere, that Enjolras really did want to spend the rest of their lives together, but that didn’t mean he just had to sit idly by. 

Consistently telling Grantaire how loved he was and showing plenty of affection was extremely important, but Enjolras wanted to do more. Discussing what had just happened might be a good start, though he would have to be very careful if he were the one to initiate that conversation, so that Grantaire didn’t assume the worst. Grantaire’s nap so far had been untroubled, which was hopefully a good sign, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a lot for him to process. Enjolras didn’t want to try to anticipate what, exactly, Grantaire might worry about, in case he brought up something Grantaire hadn’t even thought of. 

He did worry, privately, about how loud they had been. He was clearly the worse culprit, but that didn’t mean Grantaire wouldn’t blame himself. Enjolras thought they had been very quiet, other than his one outburst, if only because old habits died hard. But no one, let alone Jehan, seemed particularly bothered when they were loud, just the actions that usually occurred in conjunction with raised voices, so it was possible he and Grantaire had become rather lax in keeping their voices down. Without Master to issue immediate correction, it was easier than Enjolras thought to slip. If Grantaire did want to have sex again, it would be nice not to worry about anyone overhearing. 

Was that it? Should he suggest finally finding their own place to Grantaire? Would that be a kind of commitment that would make Grantaire feel safe rather than scared? They were starting to wear on Jehan, even if they would never say anything to that effect, but there was no way that couldn’t be the case. Jehan’s job sounded easy enough: keep the two of them fed and clothed and healthy and brought wherever they were needed, but he and Grantaire sometimes struggled to eat and dressed inappropriately and were prone to bouts of sudden anger or tears or terror, and they even kept Jehan from getting a good night’s sleep on a regular basis. Enjolras wasn’t sure how he was going to transition from that behavior to living independently, but he was no longer ill and could use that new energy to figure it out, if it would make Grantaire feel just a little bit better. He had spent quite a few years living like a normal person, after all; those skills must be locked inside him somewhere.

Besides, it wasn’t like they could just go out and get an apartment tomorrow if they wanted; he would have time to think about this and make a plan. They would need money, and maybe a co-signer, if Combeferre thought it was best to keep whatever had been Enjolras’s in his name. If he managed to work while in law school, he wouldn’t earn that much, and a landlord would probably be suspicious of Grantaire’s self-employment income, no matter how high it was. He had no idea what their credit was like, either. Even if someone had handled their outstanding bills, it wasn’t like either of them had done anything to maintain their credit for years. On paper, they would probably look like abysmal tenants. 

They probably needed new IDs, too. He had no idea what had become of them, but if they weren’t around to help identify them at the hospital, that must mean they were gone. Perhaps he should ask for this first, convince Jehan or Bahorel to take them to the DMV, and maybe if he could act normal enough there, they would then listen when he asked to move out. As much as he wanted to jump ahead and ask for everything right away, he had no real argument for why he was ready to live independently. As much as it might surprise them for a moment, he doubted saying he wanted to have loud sex with Grantaire would be that helpful in the long run.

When Enjolras checked and found Grantaire still sleeping peacefully, he found his thoughts drifting back to the case and what he had read earlier in the afternoon. None of it had been particularly surprising. It had been a little strange to see everything that had happened outlined so bluntly, even if only in outline form, and it would have almost seemed over-the-top, except none of it was fabricated, or even sensationalized. It had all just been so...normal for so long, that it was bizarre to see it presented as being so horrifically wrong. Not that Enjolras hadn’t realized it was horrifically wrong, but there hadn’t been anything to do but survive. Grantaire had managed to do more than that, though, and as much as that thought made Enjolras hot with shame, he did appreciate how much the prosecution wanted to emphasize that. The point was probably to highlight how close to death Enjolras had been pushed, that he had constantly required outside intervention to survive, but he knew how excruciating the trial would be for Grantaire, and it hoped it would help him to be presented to the world as Enjolras’s protector and savior. It was completely true.

It was unsettling, though, because it would probably be attacked in cross-examination, and with it, Grantaire’s self-worth. He knew that was the defense’s job, but he wished Grantaire could somehow be exempt. He wondered how Courfeyrac and Marius felt when they had to cross-examine someone. They probably didn’t take clients like Master, though. But Enjolras wondered if he’d ever be able to do it. He’d probably be different several years from now, but if he didn’t want Grantaire to experience this, how could he do it to someone else? What if he wasted three years of their time and money, not to mention the opportunity cost of not working much during that time, only to find he couldn’t do the job he had been trained for? He supposed he could become a different kind of lawyer, but he couldn’t imagine who would want to hire him other than his friends, who might just be doing it out of guilt or charity or as part of their own healing process.

Enjolras started when he realized Grantaire’s eyes were open now. He tried to push everything from his mind to give his partner a genuine smile. The last thing he wanted was for Grantaire to assume Enjolras was upset with him, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. “I’m sorry, Grantaire, I didn’t realize you were awake.” 

“It’s fine.” Grantaire shrugged and used the movement to try to cover the way he let go of Enjolras’s sweater. 

Enjolras tightened his arm around his partner. “Grantaire, you’re allowed to ask for my attention,” but though he said it as gently as he could manage, Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head away in response. Enjolras closed his own eyes for a moment, before opening them again. “It’s fine if you can’t, Grantaire. I’m not upset with you. I just want you to know you can.” 

Grantaire looked back at Enjolras tentatively, though he then shrugged and closed his eyes again. He did seem a little more relaxed, though, and Enjolras wasn’t certain if his partner was just trying to ignore him or if he genuinely wanted to doze for a little longer, or some combination of the two. After a little while, though, Enjolras could tell he was still awake. 

“Grantaire, do you want to eat in our room tonight? You can stay here, if you like.” He still wanted to talk about earlier and his idea for moving out, but a peace offering after his first botched attempt at conversation seemed advisable. 

Grantaire’s eyes flew open. “No,” he said, harshly enough Enjolras jumped a little in surprise. “No,” Grantaire repeated, almost whispering now. His face scrunched up. “I need to know they didn’t - that we’re not in trouble.” 

“Alright,” Enjolras acquiesced. Hearing someone else say it aloud made him realize how absurd it was that Jehan might have spent the last few hours lying patiently in wait to punish them, two adults, for having consensual sex in the privacy of their own room, but since he had been afraid of the same thing earlier, he couldn’t blame Grantaire. He supposed the worst that might happen would be Jehan asking them to be a little more respectful of the apartment’s other occupants, but even that seemed less and less likely, because Jehan had to know saying something like that would still terrify and shame Grantaire. And they were Grantaire’s friend, after all. 

Maybe he should bring up his idea now. “Grantaire, I was thinking.” As he had half-expected, his partner immediately tensed up; Enjolras rubbed his back in response, and tried not to be discouraged when the effect seemed minimal. “What would you think of starting to look for our own apartment?” 

“I hadn’t….” Grantaire trailed off. “Do you think they’d let us?” 

“They can’t actually stop us,” Enjolras said with more bravado than he felt. If Jehan outright refused, would he really be strong enough to ignore them? He couldn’t even just leave to prove a point, because he had no idea where else he could take Grantaire that would be safe. “Though I admit it would be much easier if they agreed.” 

Grantaire mulled this over for some time, and Enjolras thought about how nice it was to hold him instead of his nerves; he realized he had expected Grantaire to just agree, which was an assumption he should probably examine further, but Enjolras was glad his partner was actually thinking about it. “What exactly were you thinking of?” Grantaire finally asked.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Enjolras admitted. “I know there’s probably a lot we need to do before we can even start looking. But a studio might be nice?” He thought he was blushing a little. “I like that we could be in the same room.” What he really wanted was to be with Grantaire, always, despite the fact he was supposed to be working to fix that particular problem; just because he was slowly, very slowly, coming around to the idea that nothing catastrophic would happen to Grantaire if they were apart, it didn’t make the idea any more pleasant. But he knew it would be impractical, not to mention extremely unfair, to drag Grantaire everywhere with him, and for as understanding as Courfeyrac and Marius had been so far, they probably wouldn’t allow every day to be Bring Your Grantaire to Work Day; besides, Grantaire would have his own things he wanted to do, things that would be served better by not being attached to Enjolras at the hip. This reluctant understanding filled Enjolras with a terrible, physical ache that was practically unbearable. It would be unbearable, if he wouldn’t be able to console himself with the thought of returning home to be close with Grantaire, even if they were doing different things while there. 

Grantaire shifted a little. “I don’t know if I could – maybe if it had a loft?” Enjolras should have thought of that. Of course Grantaire would feel uncomfortable sleeping out in the open, completely unprotected. Even if they put up a privacy screen or something similar, that wouldn’t be the type of security Grantaire needed.

“If that’s what you’d like,” he agreed, kissing Grantaire’s forehead for good measure. There was no reason for Grantaire to feel ashamed, especially not when Enjolras was having his own issues regarding space, but Enjolras wanted his partner to feel safe, both from his fears and to ask for what he needed. 

Grantaire’s eyelashes fluttered, and Enjolras saw he was holding back tears. By the time he could make a soothing sound, those tears had started to fall, and Grantaire had buried his face in his hands, though he was still resting on Enjolras’s chest. Enjolras felt awful for making Grantaire feel teary for a second time that day; he didn’t know if this was a remnant of whatever had upset Grantaire earlier, or unrelated, or just the straw that broke the camel’s back on a highly emotional day. Grantaire regained control after a few minutes, though his voice was already hoarse.

“You really want to live with me? Like – live with me, live with me?” 

“I do, Grantaire, I swear.” He squeezed his partner. He never doubted that Grantaire had been hurt awfully, but the fact that he could patiently sit with Enjolras each day and comfort him as he cried himself sick at the thought of being apart yet still think Enjolras would try to be rid of him as soon as possible just drove it home. It also drove home just how strong Grantaire was, to open himself up to the possibility of that type of hurt every single day. “You can be on the lease by yourself, if you want. And if we need a co-signer, you can choose who it is, someone you think would support you.” 

Grantaire wiped angrily at his eyes. “No, you should be on it. It’s not we’ll be paying it out of my savings.” He stopped wiping, but left his hands where they were, and Enjolras forced himself to sit in the uncomfortable silence. “He just always reminded me that if it all ended, somehow, it meant everything would end.” Grantaire made a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a croak. “I just – it’s a lot. That it’s – all the bad parts are over, but we’re still-”

“It’s alright, Grantaire. I understand.” Enjolras didn’t, not completely, because even when he had stopped thinking about any sort of rescue, he had always known Grantaire would be there with him, for him; as much as Master had loved to fuck with his mind, there wouldn’t have been any possible way for him to have made Enjolras forget that. He pulled Grantaire closer, just because there wasn’t anyone who could tell him it wasn’t allowed, just because he wanted to make his partner feel better. “Is this what upset you – earlier?” 

“No.” This time Grantaire made a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a laugh. “For once.” He sniffed. “I think it was just the crash after all the endorphins. Sorry I got all clingy.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. I didn’t mind at all. Should I – is there something I should do differently, after?”

“No, no. You were fine.” Grantaire sounded sincere, but then he went very still. “You said ‘do.’ As in the present tense.”

Enjolras wanted a moment to think, to try to guess exactly what Grantaire meant by that, but he didn’t want his silence to be misinterpreted. “I just wanted to know, in case it happened afterwards again. I liked being with you like that, and you made me feel really good, Grantaire. But I’m also fine if you don’t want to do it again. I just want you to be happy.” Grantaire squirmed against Enjolras’s chest. “Shh, Grantaire, I promise it’s fine.”

“Can we go eat?” Grantaire mumbled. 

That was probably just the most effective way to get his partner to stop talking, but Enjolras agreed nonetheless. Grantaire started trembling very slightly when they untangled themselves from the blankets. Enjolras took his hands before wrapping his comforter around him. “I promise nothing bad is going to happen. No one is going to know,” he said, because he knew it, even if he didn’t really feel it. He was relieved to find he had been right. They emerged to find Jehan tending to their plants, humming quietly to themselves as they did so, but they seemed no different when they turned and found Enjolras and Grantaire standing there. They only smiled and went about making dinner, continuing to hum as they did so. By the time Jehan had put their plates on the table, Grantaire had relaxed about as much as he ever did in the presence of others. He did glance at Enjolras out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, and Enjolras made sure to gently bump their knees under the table if Jehan was watching, or to touch Grantaire’s arm if they were looking down at the knitting they had brought to the table.

It was probably disingenuous to tell Grantaire all was well when Enjolras made sure to finish his food before addressing Jehan, but he couldn’t help it; he knew Jehan wouldn’t be angry and that even if they were, they wouldn’t take food away as punishment, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Enjolras’s past self would have hated his present self, to know he was eating so much and was afraid of losing part of one meal, but he felt his hunger more now, as a need he should try to fulfill, instead of just another pain of many to try to ignore. He looked at Grantaire and waited until he nodded impercetibly.

“Jehan?” Enjolras was glad Grantaire was beside him.

They set their knitting down immediately. “What is it, Enjolras?” They were still looking at him gently, but with a little anticipation, probably waiting to see what mess they would have to clean up now.

“Can we get new IDs?” 

“Oh, of course.” Jehan tilted their head. “Courfeyrac explained this to me in case you asked. You can do it online, but you’ll have to pay the replacement fee. If you go in person, you can have it waived since it – wasn’t your fault. Courf got everything you need from the police, if that’s what you want. Ferre took your passports and Social Security cards out of the bank, and gave them to me, too. But there’s no pressure if the Internet would be easier.”

Enjolras had to agree that, yes, doing this online sounded much better, even as he felt guilty Grantaire would have to do all the work, but this was part of his plan, and he needed to stick to it. He needed to show that he could behave like something sort of resembling a human being out in public, so that he could get an apartment, so that Grantaire could feel happy and safe in their own space. He looked to Grantaire, who was staring fixedly at the table. No doubt he would prefer to do this online as well, but he was not going to actually tell Enjolras that. Enjolras found his hand and took it. “We can do it in-person.”

“That’s fine. I have a few meetings already scheduled on your next free day, but that’s Éponine’s day off. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to take you.” Enjolras nodded. She would be a good handler for navigating a bureaucratic nightmare, and she might give him points for effort if he couldn’t quite handle it as well as he wanted. It was important not to ruin this. “Is there anything else you need?” 

“Does – does Combeferre still have my money?” The question felt strange in Enjolras’s mouth. Money still sounded abstract, but he was going to have to figure it out if they wanted to move out. He hoped it would come back to him with a little practice.

“Oh, yes, but….” Jehan trailed off as they wandered to their room. They returned with an envelope. “Enjolras,” they said a little more seriously, “Combeferre is not trying to keep your money from you, or use it to control you. He just wants to make sure it’s as easy for you to get back on your feet as possible. He and Bossuet have talked about, and I know they’d explain if you wanted them to. This was just one thing we could actually do for you to try to make this less stressful.” He handed Enjolras the envelope, which contained a small amount of cash, in various denominations, and a debit card in Combeferre’s name on it, a piece of paper with the PIN taped to the back. “He wanted you to have this when you were ready, as a token of good faith. It’s yours to use as you see fit.”

Enjolras unfolded a piece of paper tucked in the back, which turned out to be a bank statement. He vaguely remembered he had done his best to save before, but he was surprised to see how much had accumulated. He bit his lip for a few moments, until the sudden urge to cry had passed. His friends had thought he was dead, but they had still managed his money wisely, so that it would be easier for him if he did come back. It was moving in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. “When is this from?” he asked, when he felt like he could.

Jehan hummed and tried to read it upside-down. “March, I think it says? So last month. It will have only gone up since then. No one is spending any of it.”

Now Enjolras really felt like crying. How was it already April? “When – when did we-” He just couldn’t force the question out. Assigning a timeline would make it real.

Jehan frowned, but looked deeply concerned instead of angry. He must have been right to assume they had thought he was keeping track of time. “It was November, Enjolras.”

“What about the holidays?” he blurted out. He should be thinking about other things, like how little progress he had made in more than four months, or how he only had five more months to somehow get ready for law school when he could barely function, but of course that’s not what he had said.

Jehan’s frown deepened. “We didn’t want you to have to think about anything other than getting better. Ferre and Joly thought trying to celebrate holidays with...people you were frightened of would just be more stressful. I am sorry if that was the wrong choice.” Enjolras wasn’t upset, their friends had been right, it would have been extremely stressful and confusing, but he wondered if some of Jehan’s distress came from other decisions that had had to be made on his and Grantaire’s behalf. As difficult as Enjolras was now, he had been infinitely worse in the hospital. His stomach hurt a little at thought of their friends being completely helpless but having to try to make the best choices possible, when there might be very well be only bad options; he knew what that felt like, and it was one the most miserable feelings in the world.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, hoping Jehan understood. 

“It’s alright. We can just celebrate this year. The only problem will probably be convincing Courf we don’t need five seasons worth of parties rolled into one.” Enjolras appreciated Jehan was trying to smile, even though he couldn’t manage one of his own. 

“Thank you, Jehan,” he did manage to say, before taking Grantaire back to their room. His partner waited patiently while he carefully placed the envelope on the bookcase, but he looked a little uncertain when Enjolras turned back. Enjolras frowned when he realized. “I missed Valentine’s Day, didn’t I?”

Grantaire laughed, quiet but real, and rolled his eyes. “Enjolras, I think you get a pass on that one.” That did not make Enjolras stop frowning, since Grantaire had turned a little pink; he obviously liked the idea of Enjolras doing something for him to celebrate a romantic holiday. Enjolras had always thought of Sweetest Day as the overly-commercialized step-sibling of Valentine’s Day, but he made a mental note to try to make it special for Grantaire, at least this year, to make up for what they had missed. He wasn’t really sure what people did for their partners to make it special, but he would find out, no matter how uncomfortable it made him to ask; he hoped Courfeyrac and Éponine might have some ideas. He stepped forward and kissed Grantaire softly, but he stopped when Grantaire grew more tense instead of more relaxed.

“Is something wrong?” He thought he had given Grantaire plenty of time to pull away, and they had stopped asking each other before every kiss, but maybe that was wrong, he shouldn’t have assumed - 

“Do you want to – again?” Grantaire offered, looking at the ground, clearly just nervous this time, instead of nervous and excited.

“No, no, Grantaire. Especially not if you don’t want to. Did I make you feel pressured somehow? Do you want me to leave you alone for awhile?”

Grantaire looked up from under his eyelashes, studying Enjolras, before shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m just not used to it. To – to thinking about how I feel about it.” He shivered. “I’m sorry. This is the very definition of it’s not you, it’s me.”

Of course Grantaire wasn’t used to thinking about what he wanted or when he wanted it, after so many years of abuse. Enjolras should’ve known. “It’s fine, Grantaire. I don’t mind saying it again – I promise I’m fine if we never, ever have sex again.” He kissed Grantaire’s forehead as chastely but lovingly as he could manage. “How about this? We won’t do anything unless you initiate it. Or if you say that you want me to initiate it. And there’s no pressure for if or when you do that. I don’t expect anything. It doesn’t affect how I feel about you.”

Grantaire squinted at him. It looked like he had something else to say, but he settled for, “OK,” before turning his head away.

“How about this? We can go to the closet and I can tell you about what I read earlier, and then we can relax until you want to go to sleep. Alright?” Grantaire squinted at Enjolras again, in a way that suggested he knew Enjolras was trying to force him to practice asking for something he wanted, but then he nodded and took his partner’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Sweetest Day is a very regional holiday, and even if Google led me astray in saying it's a thing in New York, I made the assumption Enjolras would at least know of its existence and be fine to use it as an excuse to make Grantaire feel special, even if no one else around him is doing anything.


	56. Chapter Fifty-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this in public because I like to live on the edge.

Grantaire wondered how much longer he could pretend to be asleep for. He was supposed to feel happy today – he and Enjolras didn’t have to talk to any lawyers and were going to take the first step toward getting their own apartment. But he didn’t have the energy to get up, let alone feel happy. But it was already past their normal wake-up time, and it wouldn’t be long before Enjolras became restless and bored, and only a little bit longer until he started fretting and fussing trying to find out what was wrong. Grantaire didn’t know how to explain that nothing in particular was wrong, he just wanted hide under the blankets and not move. And Grantaire could have his way, if he really wanted. Enjolras would try to gently prod and cajole him to get up, but he wouldn’t actually force him. 

Enjolras was being very careful not to force Grantare to do anything ever since he had been stupid and gotten nervous about being kissed, in case Enjolras had wanted more. Now Enjolras apparently didn’t want anything. (That wasn’t true. Grantaire knew he was blowing everything out of proportion in his head, because Enjolras was still just as demonstrative with his physical affection and still kissed him frequently, albeit with plenty of warning. But still.) Sex had just been something that happened to Grantaire for so long, that he didn’t know how to articulate that he actually wanted it. Especially not to Enjolras, of all people. Just acknowledging to himself that he wanted it was hard. That was probably the reason for this whole waiting-for-it-to-be-suggested exercise. 

But he did want it, sometimes. He would still be scared shitless, but now that he’d had sex once, it was even worse to have it taken away, whatever the well-intentioned reason. Yesterday the lawyers had asked Enjolras to leave and then made their first gentle attempt to address cross-examination with him, gentle enough they must have been warned that Grantaire already tended to go to break down with minimal pressure. He had white-knuckled his way through, for once, but while Enjolras spent the afternoon being extra snappy with anyone who spoke to him, Grantaire hadn’t said anything at all. He had thought direct examination would be worse, but all he would have to do was give the required answers, practiced ahead of time, no surprises. He was going to cry, he knew, and most likely throw up, but he had gone over and over and over the relevant memories in his mind until the most painful edge had been worn away. 

But having to answer questions on the spot that would attempt to discredit what he was saying, and what Enjolras had also gone through, made him want to run away, again, so that it couldn’t happen. The lawyers had tried to spare him for the moment, but he wasn’t stupid. He had broken plenty of rules and regularly begged Master to spare Enjolras, but he had never resisted or fought back or even said no on his own behalf. (And not just to protect Enjolras, as much as he wanted to lie to himself.) He had slept around plenty before, he vaguely knew, with people of all genders. (This shouldn’t be relevant, and the lawyers promised they would object to any irrelevant questions and Grantaire didn’t have to answer, but he also knew once the jury heard a question in that vein, they would know how he had always been slutty, no answer needed.) Worst of all, he had loved Enjolras from the moment he had seen him. (OK, it had probably been lust and infatuation the first few times, but he liked to pretend.) Why hadn’t Grantaire done more to rescue the man he loved so very much? Was it because being Master’s captive was an acceptable price to pay for making Enjolras his? He knew that wasn’t true, that he would’ve given up his life if it would’ve guaranteed Enjolras’s freedom, but a jury wouldn’t understand that. He knew how it would look.

It had been so easy for Grantaire to start to believe those lies, trapped in his own head, and, as he had sat in the closet, not even pretending to draw, as Enjolras read, rubbing his legs every time he turned a page, he had wanted. Before he could slow his brain down, make himself understand that there was no way he could suggest comfort sex because there was no way he could verbalize everything behind that desire, or explain the concept to Enjolras, the fantasy was already forming in his mind. They would go lie down in their nest, and he could put his head on Enjolras’s chest (as a bonus Enjolras seemed to like this too) before pulling their comforter completely over his head, loosely enough that Enjolras could reach in and pet him. Even in his imagination he couldn’t allow himself to rut against Enjolras’s leg, but the thought of taking himself in hand while safe and warm in Enjolras’s arms was still wonderful. It would only take a minute, maybe two, and then he would be free to focus on reciprocating however Enjolras wanted. (In this scenario, it would be wonderfully easy to just slip down a little lower and take Enjolras into his mouth, but that would be too fast. Hands would be better for now, though he’d have to pop his head back out so there was no question of peeking out of turn.) 

All of those pleasant thoughts were obliterated when he realized he was uncomfortably hard and Enjolras was trying to surreptitiously watch him out of the corner of his eye. Grantaire was grateful for his bended legs and sketchbook, though it must still be apparent what the problem was. He could be even more obvious and flee to the bathroom, but the thought of trying to get off, locked away by himself but full of Enjolras-related thoughts, made him sick with shame. He worked industriously at the cityscape he doing to remember how to draw things that weren’t people (specifically things that weren’t Enjolras, but what was Grantaire supposed to do when he was just the perfect specimen of a person) and after awhile he wasn’t aroused, but he still felt pretty disgusting, and disgusted with himself. 

At this rate, they were never going to have sex again. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, softly enough that a normal person wouldn’t have been woken if they had actually been asleep. (Grantaire was pretty sure Enjolras could be on a different planet, and him whispering Grantaire’s name would rouse him from the deepest sleep.) He wanted to keep pretending, postpone this conversation as long as he could manage, but it took too much energy to deny Enjolras. But talking took a lot of energy, too, so the best he could manage was flipping himself over to his other side, curling into Enjolras in a celibate parody of his earlier fantasy. To his surprise (and relief), Enjolras only pulled him closer and said nothing, for a little while longer. And when he did, it was only to say, “I love you, Grantaire.” 

“I love you, too,” Grantaire couldn’t help but reply, even as he squirmed a little. It was almost too much. 

There was an expectant pause. “Do you not want to move out, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked quietly. “I didn’t mean to take over and decide like that, for both of us. I swear that wasn’t my intention. I can tell you’re – unhappy.” Unhappy was a kinder euphemism for being too depressed to get out of bed than Grantaire had expected. 

“Enjolras, I’m always going to be unhappy.” Grantaire was aiming for sarcastic, but it came out as pathetic instead. “If you want me to come with you, I’ll live wherever you want to live. I don’t care where it is.”

Grantaire thought this last part might provoke Enjolras into anger, as so many far gentler remarks from others did, but Enjolras’s voice was soft when he replied, “Of course I want you to come with me.” He slowly reached a hand up to Grantaire’s face and used his thumb to stroke his cheekbone. 

Grantaire shut his eyes but couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “I’m still going to be like this, no matter where we go.” Enjolras deserved to know that there was no magical solution, especially if there was no longer going to be anyone right there to help him make Grantaire do things, like get up in the morning or eat or just about anything remotely productive. Enjolras would have more than enough to worry about as he transitioned to living independently without having to drag Grantaire’s sorry ass around with him. It might be a little easier without constantly worrying someone would hurt Enjolras, but it still wasn’t going to turn him into Positive Polly overnight.

Enjolras’s hand stopped moving but stayed where it was. “Grantaire, I would see you happy and content. But I know it’s not a perfect world, and that you can’t just will yourself to feel better, and I’m not expecting you to. I want to do everything in my power to help you, but there’s no – consequences, even if you feel this way forever. I want to be with you because I love you. I’m not expecting you to change just for me.”

“Even if I mope around like this forever?”

“Yes, of course. But you’re not just moping, you shouldn’t call it that.” This was more the Enjolras Grantaire expected, though it didn’t make him any more interested in accurately describing his issues. 

They were quiet for a minute, until Grantaire managed to break the silence. “I thought making a perfect world was kind of your thing.” Enjolras huffed and then kissed the top of his head, which did make Grantaire feel like maybe he could manage to shower and eat. He didn’t want to admit how badly he had felt (which was stupid because he hadn’t exactly been subtle,) so instead he pushed himself up enough to kiss Enjolras on the mouth and was rewarded with a soft, pleased smile. He hurried to the bathroom before he could get himself worked up again. 

He examined himself in the mirror. His stubble had softened and filled in a little bit, but it was still projecting more of a I Can’t Take Care of Myself vibe than a I’m Not Taking Care of Myself on Purpose one. He half-heartedly opened the bathroom cabinet, in case someone had put the razors back, but they were still missing. Even Jehan and Éponine must be keeping theirs in their room. Grantaire had to breathe slowly to keep from throwing up at the thought of asking for his own. He could’ve had one, without any fuss, if he hadn’t been so fucking broken. He shuffled back to the bedroom, and Enjolras looked up before hurrying to his side. “I want to shave,” he mumbled before Enjolras could ask what was wrong (this time.) 

“Oh.” Enjolras appraised Grantaire’s face like he had just noticed it (not a terrible coping strategy, Grantaire had to admit) and then rubbed at his own face, which had only a minimal amount of blonde fuzz sprinkled on it. Grantaire had tried not to worry if this was a bad sign of Enjolras’s recovery since Dr. Combeferre hadn’t said anything. Perhaps Enjolras had only had to shave very infrequently before. Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand, kissing it for good measure. “Come with me.” 

He led them out to the family room, where Éponine was sprawled across the couch, scrolling idly through her phone. Jehan was gone, to wherever they went when they were over the whole taking care of needy people thing. Grantaire did have a nagging sensation that Jehan wasn’t really tired of them, that they would be just as understanding of how he felt as Enjolras - if only Grantaire would open up to them. There was no chance of that happening, because the very thought honestly made him want to die. Laying his feelings bare before Enjolras was hard enough, despite the fact Enjolras had a vested interest (for now) in keeping Grantaire around, to relieve his own anxiety, and that he pretty much already knew everything Grantaire had to tell him. It would literally be impossible to do it with anyone else, no matter how strong his nagging feelings were.

Éponine locked her phone with a finger and then let it drop onto her chest. She gave them (well, the Enjolras in them) time to speak, and when he didn’t, she said firmly, “Whatever it is, I’m not going to be angry.”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “We want to shave.” He stressed the first word, but from the way Éponine squinted at him, Grantaire wondered if people who had other things going on in their lives besides (sneakily) looking at Enjolras had even noticed his facial hair. Grantaire wished he had never said anything. Who cared how disheveled he looked in his photo? He already looked much healthier than he had in a long time. He should’ve just been happy with that. Why did he need to seek out yet another way to feel ashamed? He already enough options to last a lifetime.

“R,” she said, and he dropped his eyes as she turned to him. “I need you to be honest with me.”

“I just want to shave,” he mumbled. It was true. (Not that he could blame Éponine for being skeptical.) But no one was saying anything, because his word wasn’t enough. “If I want...I can always find another way.” That was true too. Scratching his arms didn’t give him the same release as other methods, but short of putting him in a straitjacket, no one could 100% guarantee he wouldn’t hurt himself. Enjolras must have realized this as well, but instead of letting go of Grantaire’s hand to push him away, he did it to wrap his arm around him and pull him close. 

“That is true,” Éponine said slowly, and then shrugged. She rolled herself up and fetched an unopened package of disposable razors from her room. Grantaire almost dropped it when she gave it to him, having expected her to hand it to Enjolras instead. “Shaving cream is under the sink. Be careful of how much pressure you use – you’re out of practice. Though I’m not sure Enjolras has ever had any.” She rolled her eyes but smiled, so Grantaire understood this was supposed to be a joke, though Enjolras’s expression was inscrutable. Éponine grew serious again and folded her arms, then unfolded them, then folded them again. “R, I can’t begin to know what you went through, so I’m not going to tell you not to hurt yourself, but please, at least tell Enjolras if you’re feeling that badly first.” Enjolras nodded gravely, while using his knuckles to lightly rub Grantaire’s arm.

Grantaire looked down and shrugged. Enjolras probably already had a good guess when Grantaire felt that terrible, but not judging or condemning Grantaire were not anywhere close to understanding what it felt like when Grantaire just needed a way to let all the toxic feelings growing inside him out. He would try to stop Grantaire, which Grantaire knew was an objectively good thing, but it didn’t feel like that. At least neither of them pressed him for anything more.

The bathroom was too small for two normal people to stand at the sink side-by-side, but it felt like plenty of room to Grantaire, and being jammed next to Enjolras helped ease the terrible ache inside of him. Enjolras was very serious about the whole matter, so much so that Grantaire almost laughed to see him looking that earnest while slathered in shaving cream, only the very top layer of which was skimmed off on Enjolras’s first pass, either in an attempt to be very conservative in not cutting himself or because Éponine had been right and he really hadn’t done this that much. Grantaire quickly turned away and focused on his own task when he realized how...couple-y the whole affair was. 

It was weird remembering how to do this, the muscle memory still there somewhere, but buried deep enough that the actual mechanics were lost. He was a lot less tentative than Enjolras, and only managed to nick himself once, on the underside of his jaw. It was strange how even after everything he endured, at the hands of Master and his own, that the sharp sting was still enough to make him wince. Once he had rinsed the razor and his face off, he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked, unsurprisingly, younger and like less of a hot mess (though the full effect was dulled by his onesie) and also better than expected. Who knew that plenty of food and rest (and uninterrupted time with Enjolras) could make such a difference, the sunken, gray face replaced by one that looked, for the most part, pretty normal. (He didn’t really remember Enjolras looking that terrible, but if he had, it was no wonder Dr. Combeferre had thought he wouldn’t be getting out of bed.) Enjolras made a quiet sound next to him, and Grantaire looked at him in the mirror. He had turned to look at Grantaire’s actual face, not just his reflection, and he was pink. It was probably just the steam in the room from all the hot water. But then Enjolras noticed that Grantaire had noticed, and he turned pinker. He took Grantaire’s hand again. “You look really nice,” he said, trying to meet Grantaire’s eye, until Grantaire himself made that impossible. 

“I just don’t look as horrifically awful,” Grantaire countered, bending down to see if Jehan had any aftershave under the sink as well, a task that obviously required his full attention. 

“You never looked horrific or awful,” Enjolras said sincerely, though with enough finality that suggested he knew he would lose an argument if he pushed. (Because there was no arguing with pure facts.) Grantaire found what he was looking for and put it on the counter for later.

“I’m going to shower now,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the pile of clothes he had brought in earlier, before he had created yet another mess. Enjolras mercifully let him be, disappearing to the bedroom, deep in thought. 

Grantaire flinched the first few times he touched his face in the shower, surprised every time he found it smooth. When he had dressed in normal clothes, though he refused to cuff the overly long sleeves of Enjolras’s sweater, Grantaire found he really did look...acceptable. Or at least acceptable enough that no one out in public would take any notice of him. He carefully applied Jehan’s aftershave, blinking a few times at the sting but enjoying how it made him feel like an adult, for all of five seconds.

He found Enjolras pacing on the free side of the bed, and he didn’t know if that was better or worse than silently brooding. But Enjolras abruptly stopped and then skipped the turning pink part to go directly to going bright red instead. “You smell really nice,” he stammered, voice much higher than usual. Grantaire blushed too and wondered vaguely what embarrassing color he had turned. Enjolras had that bright but intense look, and Grantaire found himself making a mental note that apparently scent was what did it for him. He didn’t know what he was ever going to do with that mental note, but he couldn’t stop himself from automatically cataloging this new Enjolras Fact. 

As Enjolras left for his own shower, Grantaire tried to focus on the normalcy of the rest of their morning routine, so that he didn’t lose his will to continue on. It would’ve been easy. There were so many other things to think about - like how he was a total failure or if it would be ethically wrong to manipulate Enjolras into sleeping with him utilizing his new information or how they were about to go out in public for something not related to their case or how it was hard to eat while thinking about not thinking about those things and how Enjolras knew all this and wanted to keep living with him anyway. 

Grantaire looked up when Enjolras set his fork down. “Éponine,” he said slowly, “is anyone going to recognize us?”

Éponine leaned back in her chair and appraised them. Grantaire bowed his head again. It wasn’t the way Master had looked at him, but it still made him uncomfortable. “I can’t actually promise no one will realize who you are, especially since you’re together. That being said, Musichetta is still keeping tabs on everything published, and no one has managed to come up with any recent pictures. You might not look like shit anymore, but you’ve still...aged. If anyone tries to hassle you, I can handle it. Don’t worry.” She shook her head. “But maybe it would be a good idea to change into some a little – quieter.” She had a point - bright red wasn’t exactly subtle. 

Enjolras led Grantaire back to the bedroom when Grantaire had finally managed to finish eating. He stood off to the side while Enjolras dug through the closet and found an exact copy of the sweater Grantaire already had on, only in a soft gray. “I didn’t realize you owned clothes in other colors,” Grantaire said as he stripped down to his shirt, even though Enjolras had already turned away. 

Enjolras huffed again. “Of course I do. I just like wearing my favorite color.” He pulled out a black sweater that Grantaire didn’t even remember that he owned. “Besides, I think Courfeyrac would’ve staged an intervention if I tried to have a monochromatic wardrobe.” Grantaire laughed despite himself and then suddenly became fascinated with staring out the window when he realized Enjolras was changing. He had a long sleeve T-shirt on, too, but it was important not to start down the slippery slope, because it was less of a slope he would slide down and more of a cliff he would plunge off. He couldn’t look at Enjolras again unless it was to take care of his physical health. (And really, if that were ever an issue again, the right thing to do would be to ask for Dr. Combeferre, not handle it himself.) 

Enjolras came and kissed his head again, when he had finished. It was weird seeing him in something other than a shade of green. (Grantaire needed to be careful of this, too. He couldn’t let himself get used to seeing Enjolras wearing his things. Enjolras was eventually going to want to wear his own fucking clothes.) “Grantaire,” he started and then stopped. “I – I just want to say thank you. I know this whole thing is really hard, and I appreciate that you’re doing it for me.” He kissed Grantaire yet again and then pulled him into a hug. “We can do whatever you like when we get back. I know that doesn’t begin to make up for it, but I’m not entirely sure what else to offer.” 

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s fine.” Enjolras’s suggestion would’ve sounded…rather suggestive coming from anyone else, but Grantaire was just happy (or as happy as he could manage to be) to know Enjolras would still spend the rest of the day with him.

“I know it’s not fine,” Enjolras said in the same tone as before, the one that meant he disagreed but was going drop the subject. 

Éponine had already thrown on a light jacket and a scarf (probably not a Jehan creation, since it was plain black) when they came back out. She didn’t look up as she flipped through all their papers. “Do you want to bring along a book or something? It’s probably going to be a long wait.”

“No,” Enjolras snapped, and then he shrunk a little. “No, it’s fine,” he repeated more calmly. 

“Whatever floats your boat.” She shrugged, not sounding at all fazed Enjolras was cranky for what, to her, must seem like no reason at all. Maybe it wasn’t that strange, considering most of what they did seemed nonsensical. 

Even though Éponine sat in the front of the taxi she hailed, Enjolras still sat bunched up with Grantaire in the back. Grantaire watched the people out walking on the streets, forcing himself to notice how little they were noticing everyone around them. He did not want anyone to notice him, because only bad things happened when someone paid too much attention to him. And if they realized who he was, they would be disgusted to see him with Enjolras. They would wonder why Enjolras chose to be with someone as ruined as Grantaire, and it wouldn’t exactly be a huge leap in logic to assume the only way Grantaire could keep him was with sex. He didn’t really care if people thought he was getting fucked at every available opportunity, but he didn’t want to defile Enjolras like that. It was only slightly overdramatic to say he couldn’t live with himself if he knew people thought Enjolras was so easily corruptible, that sex was the only enticement he needed to change his mind. Or maybe they would think it was a shame Enjolras was still so traumatized that he hadn’t been able to let go of Grantaire yet, that his anxiety was holding him back from achieving his best life. Or maybe they would assume it was a deliberate choice after all, that he did it out of pity or that the guilt of Grantaire slowly wasting away from grief would be too large a burden to bear. He was still staring miserably out the window when Enjolras kissed his temple. “I love you,” he said again, and when Grantaire turned to look, Enjolras was intense but sincere. He was grateful that the taxi stopped then, so that Enjolras couldn’t say anything else.

It had to be close to midday, and the office was packed. They both took numbers, and the glowing sign on the wall indicated there were over 100 people between them and being served. They stood in a corner for a minute, no chairs open, but Éponine scanned the crowd, and when the sign counted up and the next number was called, she had already dragged them over to seats that a small family was just getting up from. Some of the other people standing glared at her, until they got distracted fighting over the next available seats. Éponine pulled out a magazine, looking up and over the crowd every few pages, though no one seemed to pay them any attention. One elderly man was peering at them through his glasses from across the room, tapping his wife on the knee and trying discretely to get her to look as well, but he turned away in embarrassment after Éponine noticed and raised an eyebrow in his direction.

Grantaire almost wished the crowd was more distracting, because while he was used to sitting and doing nothing and waiting for long periods of time, he had often been waiting in anticipation of something truly horrible, or in anticipation that any small mistake could result in something truly horrible being added to the schedule. He tried to pretend it was like those afternoons he had whiled away thinking of nothing but seeing Enjolras again, which was an interesting mental exercise, considering Enjolras was currently touching him, but it did take the edge off. Enjolras spent some time looking around the room, slowly reading each poster and sign on display, but when he had finished, he started bouncing his leg, stopping each time he became aware of it and restarting whenever his focus lapsed again.

Éponine had started on her second magazine when Enjolras’s number was called. He stiffly took the stack of papers from Éponine and picked his way over to the counter. Grantaire fidgeted with his hat and suddenly hoped everyone else being helped would have very complicated issues that required lots of time and effort to deal with. Éponine snapped her magazine as she turned the page. “Is he treating you well?” 

Grantaire blinked. “Yeah.” His voice sounded hoarse and strained in his own ears, and Éponine turned to give him a skeptical look. “He says he loves me,” Grantaire blurted out. 

Éponine laughed, but it was gentle instead of mocking. “So I have heard. Loudly. More than once.” She flipped another page like she was still reading. “But does he show it? In the ways you want?”

Grantaire wasn’t exactly sure how he wanted Enjolras’s love to be shown. Just knowing it existed felt like an indulgence. “Yeah - he does.” More sex would be nice, but no one could blame Enjolras – he had offered but wouldn’t proceed without Grantaire explicitly asking for it, and Grantaire couldn’t blame him for that. 

“Good. R, I’m sure I sound like I’m from Mars right now, but you deserve to be happy. And you deserve to be happy with Enjolras.” 

“I - is that - you think that?” Grantaire shouldn’t question her. That never ended very well either. Maybe orders could be clarified, if they were unclear, and if Master wanted a task done instead of just an excuse to hurt him or Enjolras, he would answer, but that was it. Grantaire never would’ve said anything to a random statement.

“You love him, don’t you?” Grantaire nodded slightly, unsure why that made the shame more acute, when Éponine already knew the answer. “Then of course I want you to be with him.”

Grantaire swallowed. He wanted to get up and find somewhere to hide, but he had to know. She couldn’t do anything to him in public and in front of all these people. “You don’t...you’re not going to convince him to leave me?” He thought he was going to throw up and looked for the closest garbage can in case he couldn’t control himself. 

When Éponine didn’t answer immediately, he forced himself to look, and saw how hard and tight her face was. She blinked and adopted a more neutral expression when she saw Grantaire watching. “R, I’m not angry at you. I’m just angry you were – made to think I would do something like that.”

“It’s not you specifically,” he said quickly, trying to salvage the situation. “He - said anyone would see that we shouldn’t – that I’m...you know….”

“That’s some fucking bullshit,” Éponine said matter-of-factly and rather loudly, oblivious to the way a mother sitting nearby glared at her and covered her toddler’s ears. “Grantaire, I would cut off my arm before suggesting something like that. And if someone else tries to pull something like that, I’ll cut off both their arms.” She turned to look at him and was suddenly quiet. “Why did Enjolras suddenly want to do this?” 

It took Grantaire a second to realize she meant getting replacement IDs, not having a relationship with him. He frowned. She already knew the answer. “He wanted – wants to move out.” 

“Together?”

“That’s what he said,” Grantaire whispered, bracing himself for cutting words. She must see how absurd the whole thing was. At least she wasn’t doing this in front of Enjolras.

“There’s nothing else he’s considering doing that would require you to have IDs? Both of you?” Grantaire couldn’t think of anything. He wasn’t allowed to drink anymore, and Enjolras had only drunk socially. They had no plans to leave the city, so there wasn’t any reason they would need to drive. Maybe to get their money back? But Enjolras had access to his now, and Grantaire’s was only a pittance in comparison.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He didn’t like not knowing the answer. That either meant it was a game and he wasn’t meant to know it, because then he was guaranteed to lose, or it was something he should know and he was just too stupid to figure it out.

“R,” Éponine said, with equal measures of kindness and sadness. She made as if to touch his arm and then caught herself. “You really can’t think of anything?” Grantaire shook his head quickly. “Alright. I won’t say anything else, except that there’s no reason to worry about upsetting Combeferre and Courfeyrac.” Grantaire felt a little shaky, unsure what the hell Éponine was talking about (or around, more like.) He tried to shut Éponine out of his mind and watched Enjolras at the counter. The clerk was handing him all his papers back, but when he pointed to a corner, concealed behind a screen, Enjolras’s free hand tightened on the counter and he shook his head, gesturing to Grantaire. The worker nodded sympathetically (he must have figured out who they were, since he had their names and faces) and let Enjolras stand a few feet down and called Grantaire’s number.

He took his own stack of documents and felt a little better when Enjolras lightly touched his shoulder when he got to the counter. He wasn’t entirely successful at keeping his hand steady as he filled out the form the clerk gave him, and he didn’t have to look to know Enjolras had noticed. Whatever difficulties their situation caused must have been worked out the first time, because the clerk processed everything much more quickly for him. (Or maybe it just felt like time was passing more quickly without Éponine speaking to him in riddles. No wonder he had often aggravated Enjolras when he did it himself.) When the clerk was finished, he directed them down to the corner, where another employee was waiting to take their pictures. Enjolras sat down first, solemn, and when Grantaire begrudgingly removed his hat, he barred the entrance so that no one else could come in and see him, even though no one would’ve considered him improperly dressed. Maybe they hadn’t been recognized after all and the employees just thought it best to humor these bizarre men to get them in and out with as much speed and as little trouble as possible. He jammed his hat back on as soon as he could, and Enjolras held his hand while they waited for their IDs to print. 

“Is Éponine angry about something?” Grantaire looked up at him. “I saw her talking to you. She looked less and less happy.”

Grantaire didn’t want to repeat everything he had said. How absolutely pathetic would he sound? So he just shrugged. “She was just upset with – him.”

“Oh.” The relief in Enjolras’s voice was evident. “Was that all?”

“She said some weird shit about wanting IDs for other reasons and – your best friends not being upset about it,” he said before realizing Enjolras’s question had probably been rhetorical, wincing at his own euphemism for Dr. Combeferre and Master de Courfeyrac. Enjolras was blinking rapidly and looked slightly stricken.

“What made her say that?” Enjolras’s voice was strained, like he had an idea of an answer but didn’t want Éponine to know it.

“I don’t fucking know. She wouldn’t explain.” 

Enjolras shook himself and then smiled gently at Grantaire, suddenly calm and back in control. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” Grantaire wanted to say that this seemed like a lot of talking for it to be nothing. A third clerk appeared and handed them their IDs, still warm from the printer, Enjolras studied his for a long moment, before looking at Grantaire and then Éponine, and he did look quietly pleased. Grantaire didn’t have the heart to ruin that.


	57. Chapter Fifty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tfw when you're almost ready to post and the power goes out -_- 
> 
> Finally got to The Trial. (I promise there is more than just this chapter!) I left it pretty much dialogue free because I have absolutely not clue how it would actually work, and researching the legal bits for this fic gives me a headache. Hopefully none of you came this far just in anticipation of super!accurate!courtroom!drama.

“Are you ready for today?” Grantaire shrugged against him. Enjolras couldn’t say he was terribly surprised, not that it made him feel any better. While Grantaire hadn’t come anywhere close to returning to his previously talkative self, he had progressed away from shielding himself with total silence, until the last days of trial preparation had been too much too soon, with no escape, and his partner had reverted to speaking infrequently, only when the situation, or Enjolras, demanded it.

They were still spooning on the floor, and while it was probably just a trick of the mind, Enjolras thought Grantaire felt smaller in his arms, but it was a fact that his partner had lost some weight. Enjolras could only guess what had been discussed while he sat sequestered in another room, but whatever it was had stolen Grantaire’s appetite along with his voice. Grantaire had tried to disguise it, but it hadn’t taken more than a meal or two for Enjolras to catch on. But when he, or Jehan, or Éponine, had tried to encourage Grantaire to eat more, Grantaire became more despondent and ate even less. And while Enjolras knew from experience how hard it was, and could see that bringing it up only ashamed Grantaire and made it even harder, he had still briefly thought of asking for Joly, or Combeferre; he decided against it because he didn’t want to humiliate Grantaire even more, and there probably was little that could be done short of force-feeding him. 

“I love you, Grantaire.” Grantaire wriggled enough to make it clear it was an acknowledgement and not just coincidence, but he didn’t respond. Enjolras kissed the top of his head anyway. While he didn’t want Grantaire to relive any unhappy memories of being forced to get up before he was ready, Enjolras didn’t want to be the one to initiate their separation, even though Jehan or Éponine might come at any time to get them. It was unfair to be willing to let either of their friends be the bad guy, when all they would be doing is making sure he and Grantaire were ready to leave on time for something Enjolras specifically wanted to go to, but he would do it anyway.

“Is there anything special you want tonight?” Enjolras asked. He knew Grantaire was only attending the trial to please him, and he wanted to make it up to him, though he didn’t really know how. They could cuddle, but they did that every night, and while it hadn’t stopped being special, it didn’t feel like it would be enough to show his partner how much this specific sacrifice meant.

“Enjolras, most people mean something very different when they say that.” Grantaire sounded tired and worn down. It was how Grantaire had sounded when they were captives. Enjolras wanted to apologize and pull him closer and reassure him, but Grantaire squirmed, so he had to let go instead. 

Enjolras sat up as Grantaire went to the closet. “Grantaire, I’m sorry. That’s not at all what I meant.” 

“I know it’s not. It was a joke.” Grantaire continued to flip through Enjolras’s sweaters, so Enjolras couldn’t see if he rolled his eyes or not. His partner settled on a dark navy sweater that had always been a little large for Enjolras; with Grantaire’s additional weight loss, it would hang extra baggy and loose on him, which was undoubtedly the intention. Enjolras wanted so badly to get up and go to Grantaire and try alleviate his misery. But unintentional as it had been, he had already made his partner uncomfortable, and he should give him space. 

He bit his lip and then stopped, running his tongue over the spot. He needed to break the habit before Master saw him. “Grantaire, would you – you can stay here, if you want.” He felt sick at the thought of seeing Master without having Grantaire at his side, to feel secure in Grantaire’s safety, but was he any better than Master if all he did was manipulate Grantaire into doing his bidding, at the expense of his own happiness? He felt like a panic attack was imminent, and it wouldn’t be fair to break down in front of Grantaire like this. He tried to keep breathing; he could panic once Grantaire was in the shower.

Grantaire froze, mid-step, as he was going towards the door. He slowly put his foot back down and clutched his clothes against his chest. “Do you not want me to come with?” He was staring at the floor, but his hands started to knead the fabric they were clutching. 

“No, Grantaire. It’s not that. I can just see you’re scared and exhausted and miserable, and it’s my fault. I don’t want you to have to suffer any more if I can help it.”

“You’d be fine without me?” Grantaire’s voice was high and came close to cracking. 

“No, that’s not-” Enjolras stopped himself from sighing as Grantaire edged slowly backwards to the closet. He hated that Master wasn’t doing anything, wasn’t here, hadn’t even seen them in months, and he was still managing to strain their relationship. Long ago Enjolras would’ve taken his frustration and anger out on Grantaire, and Grantaire would’ve let him, and then it would’ve be strained and awkward for the rest of the day while Enjolras blundered around not knowing how to apologize. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Will you come here, Grantaire?” he asked gently, patting the space beside him.

Grantaire hesitated and then slowly shuffled over. He sat down next to Enjolras, but he was almost vibrating with tension. “May I?” Enjolras extended an arm and only wrapped it around Grantaire once his partner nodded. He gently tugged until Grantaire rested his head on his shoulder. “Grantaire, I know I’m – not so good at this. I’m only asking if you want to stay because I can see the toll this is taking on you. I know I should’ve been a lot more considerate of your feelings – before, and I want to do better now.” He kissed Grantaire’s temple. “If I was allowed to be completely selfish, I wouldn’t think twice about having you with there with me.”

Grantaire shifted and curled up a little. “You really want me to come with?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I don’t mind.” Grantaire pressed against Enjolras and then stood again. He didn’t turn his face away and looked a little more relaxed. 

Enjolras knew he shouldn’t, he had a long and trying day ahead of him, but he couldn’t help but pace up and down their room after Grantaire left. He was going to have to sit still the rest of the day, and he needed a way to get some of his anxiety out. He stopped when Grantaire reappeared. Éponine had just trimmed his own hair yesterday, but Grantaire had asked for her to cut his hair extremely short, so that almost all the curls were gone again. Now it was just a little damp, and he was clean-shaven and practically drowning in Enjolras’s sweater. He smelled very nice from the soap and shampoo and aftershave. Enjolras wasn’t sure if commenting was appropriate, considering they were getting ready to see Master, but then again Grantaire had already wanted reassurance. “You look really nice, Grantaire.” His partner blushed and ducked his head.

Enjolras tried not to be upset that, when he returnined showered and dressed himself, he found Grantaire had slipped back towards despondency. When they went out for breakfast, it was certainly not helped by Courfeyrac’s presence, even though he only waved and stayed on the far side of the couch, talking quietly with Éponine. Jehan brought them some toast and eggs, but didn’t stay at the table with them. Enjolras knew everyone was just there to help, that they were taking time off work to support them, but he still hated seeing Grantaire’s tight face and bowed head. It probably would look unhealthy and clingy and needy, but Enjolras didn’t care and took Grantaire’s hand. He had practice eating like this. 

When Grantaire was pushing his last egg around with his penultimate piece of toast, he slowed and stopped, glancing over to their friends in the family room. “What is it, Grantaire?” Enjolras prompted when his partner didn’t speak.

Enjolras thought Grantaire was going to lose his nerve and start eating again when he started to mop up more egg with his toast, and then he realized Grantaire’s hand was just shaking involuntarily. “Are you going to be upset?” he whispered.

Enjolras paused. Of course he was going to be upset. He was already upset. He had been prepared, but he still knew listening to the prosecution talk about what Grantaire, and he, had suffered through would be particularly awful. But that couldn’t really be what Grantaire meant, since he had to already know that. “Grantaire, I’m not going to be upset with you,” he guessed. He had no idea why Grantaire would think Enjolras would be upset with him, of all people; yes, he hadn’t always been the best at controlling his emotions, but Grantaire had to know Enjolras was never actually mad at him. Grantaire looked up from the corner of his eye at Enjolras. “Grantaire, I promise, no matter what happens or what anyone says, I’m not going to be upset with you.”

Grantaire looked like he was going to respond, but Courfeyrac chose that moment to come over. Grantaire hurriedly looked down and shoved a too much toast into his mouth. Enjolras squeezed his hand. “Good morning,” Courfeyrac greeted, sitting down across from them. “How are you two feeling?” Grantaire shoveled in even more toast. Enjolras shrugged. He shouldn’t give Courfeyrac the cold shoulder like this, when he was going out of his way to make them comfortable, and it wasn’t his fault Grantaire was still terrified of him, but still. Courfeyrac kept his expression neutral. “I just want to check, are you both still sure you want to go? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with changing your mind. The only days you absolutely have to go are when you need to testify.”

Enjolras stroked the back of Grantaire’s hand with his thumb and waited for him to squeeze back. “No, we’re going.” He did his very best not to snap. Courfeyrac was only asking the same question he had asked Grantaire a little while ago, after all. 

“That’s fine, Enjolras. That’s fine. I just want you to know you can change your mind at any point, if you’d rather not go. Or if you just need to take a break. It’s totally your decision.”

“I don’t want him to think we’re afraid,” Enjolras admitted quietly, when Courfeyrac patiently waited for some type of response. 

“Enjolras, you’re both being so brave about this whole…ordeal. No one is going to judge you.” Courfeyrac paused for a moment. Enjolras continued to rub Grantaire’s hand under the table. “We can of course do something different if you want, but we arranged to all sit up in the balcony. Ferre and Bahorel were going to sit in front of you, but that’s more to keep anyone else who attends from – looking at you. If he wanted to see you, he’d have to stand up and turn around, and I’m sure his attorney has coached him to do exactly not that. And there will be a bailiff outside the door, and they can accompany you if you want to leave and go somewhere else. No one is going to harass you.”

“And no media?”

“No, nothing’s changed with that. We’ll go in the back way, and you won’t even have to see them.” Enjolras nodded. He was all for a free press, unless it wanted to discuss what had happened to Grantaire. 

And then it was time to leave. It didn’t feel real to Enjolras, as he sat squished in the back of the taxi with Grantaire, that the trial was actually going to happen. If he stopped and consciously thought about, everything already felt surreal – that he was free, that he and Grantaire were in a relationship that was about as happy and functional as could be expected under the circumstances, that their friends had never had any intention of harming them; when he let himself start to recall his painful memories, all he could remember was wanting the pain to stop and to know Grantaire was safe. He had never imagined putting on dress clothes and going to court to watch Master be the one punished.

He felt a little nauseous when the taxi stopped, and he didn’t even want to imagine how terrible Grantaire must feel. He had the sudden urge to grab him and march back to Jehan’s apartment and lock them in their room and never come out until Master was in prison for real, but that’s exactly what Master wanted. 

As much as Enjolras wanted to prove himself by coming, the panic and despair was creeping into the edges of his mind. Just because he had managed to keep his fear from utterly paralyzing him, he wasn’t any less afraid. And even if Master never knew whether they came, he would know Enjolras had wrestled with the question, and he would know Grantaire would have agreed with his decision just to please him. Enjolras could feel a headache starting to build, and he wasn’t even inside yet.

He linked arms with Grantaire as a bailiff escorted them in, thankfully kept busy talking by Courfeyrac. He would’ve preferred to hold hands, but he felt terribly uneasy at the thought of Master appearing around a corner and ripping Grantaire away from him, their hands pulling apart; there was probably a high risk of injury to one or both of their shoulders if something like that happened in this position, but he would have a better chance of hanging on to Grantaire this way. 

He knew it was just his anxiety, that his friends would probably disapprove if they knew he was indulging his irrational fears like this, but they still didn’t understand. On his bad days, when thinking about separation was particularly difficult, he had felt a terrible rage against Combeferre and wanted to ask him how he would feel if any time he and Courfeyrac got too close, or if one of them were less than perfect, that they could taken from each other for an unknown period of time. That wasn’t charitable, and when he was more clear-headed, he remembered the point of his therapy was to help him be more functional and less of a burden on Grantaire’s time and energy, but he still wished for a little more empathy.

Enjolras could feel himself getting wound up, so he unhooked his arm and wrapped it around Grantaire’s waist. Jehan and Éponine stayed close, but there were other people walking around, and Enjolras could tell some of them recognized them. Grantaire was staring at his feet, so at least he wasn’t aware of it, but Enjolras pulled him closer nonetheless. He wished they could’ve brought Grantaire’s comforter, so that he could wrap his partner up and help him feel less exposed. Most people just looked at them in passing, but one man in a suit stopped walking and pretended to be looking at the papers in his hands, when Enjolras could tell he really watching them. His stomach hurt again, but he made himself glare back, and when Courfeyrac darted ahead to ask if the man needed help with something, he stammered something and fled down the hall.

The bailiff showed them to a room on the first floor. Enjolras had expected something like a small conference room, and while it was indeed small, it had been set up to feel more like a lounge. There was a sofa and a coffee table across from a TV, a regular table with a few chairs around it, and a bookcase off in one corner. Enjolras jumped when Jehan touched his arm to get his attention. Grantaire made a soft sound when he was yanked along in tandem, and Enjolras rubbed his arm in apology. “Enjolras, I’m just going to put your lunches in the fridge, alright? But otherwise no one is going to come in without your permission.” They pointed towards the mini-fridge in another corner and indicated the two lunchboxes they had brought with that Enjolras hadn’t even noticed, he had been so consumed with thinking about Grantaire, and Master. He wondered if he should have brought anything else for Grantaire to keep here, like his blankets or his things for sketching; these were the little things he needed to try to be better about.

Then they were led upstairs, and Enjolras tried to focus on not accidentally crushing Grantaire, because he had a feeling Grantaire would bear it in silence. The rest of their friends were milling around outside the courtroom door and seemed so calm when they saw Enjolras and Grantaire coming, that he wondered if they had privately discussed acting like this was no big deal. It made him feel a bit like a child, but he did have to admit to himself that if everyone else was wound up, it would be harder to keep himself under control. 

Courfeyrac went to Combeferre for a quick hug and then busied himself directing their friends into the proper order and then letting them trickle into the courtroom one or two at a time. The bailiff had taken up a position by the door and was scanning the area for any signs of trouble, but otherwise he and Grantaire were effectively left alone. Enjolras wondered if this was also by design. He took one more glance around to be safe, and then he hugged Grantaire to him and tilted his partner’s head up enough that he could kiss his forehead; even though Grantaire’s hair was almost entirely covered by his hat now, Enjolras didn’t want to touch it at all with Master so near. 

He pulled away when Grantaire’s skin felt a little warm against his lips. “Are you feeling alright, Grantaire?” It was a stupid way to word the question, because Grantaire looked pointedly at the courtroom door and then shrugged. He did look a little tired, but that might just be from a lack of sleep, and Enjolras decided Grantaire didn’t need to be interrogated by him before suffering through the trial. 

Courfeyrac approached cautiously, like he thought Enjolras might snap at him, and Enjolras felt a little ashamed that this was not an unreasonable assumption. “It’s going to start in a few minutes,” he said much more quietly than usual. “I thought we could go in at the same time as the judge, when everyone has something else to focus on. I’ll be next to you if you have any questions. And you can get up and leave at any time, and the bailiff will take you to your room and make sure you’re left alone.” Courfeyrac screwed up his face as he explained the last part.

“I understand,” Enjolras said. “Not like the hospital.” He felt even more ashamed. Joly and Combeferre had arranged for there to be security guards to keep them safe, and he just hadn’t been able to grasp the concept, even though it seemed so obvious now. They had both been so tired and weak they couldn’t have left on their own, anyway, but no one had been keeping them prisoner.

“That’s good,” Courfeyrac beamed like Enjolras had done something remarkable in remembering how the world actually worked. He stepped away to hover by the cracked door, and after a minute waved them in. He had been right – everyone else in the gallery was busy watching the judge enter and take her seat; a few people seated by the door looked over automatically, but by the time it registered who they were looking at, Courfeyrac had Enjolras and Grantaire seated with their friends around them in a buffer zone. Combeferre blindly reached his hand over his shoulder, and Courfeyrac took it and squeezed. 

Grantaire slumped into his seat, staring at his lap, and while he took Enjolras’s hand when it was offered, his blank expression didn’t change. Enjolras couldn’t see his eyes and wondered if he was drifting away; Enjolras hoped he was if it would help, but he worried Combeferre or Joly or Cosette would notice and try to do something about it. Enjolras knew it couldn’t be a healthy coping mechanism, but nothing that had happened to Grantaire was particularly healthy either, and Enjolras wasn’t about to dictate how Grantaire should try to get through this.

Enjolras turned to look down into the courtroom. This was the second time he was seeing Master after they had escaped, yes, but this was the first time he wasn’t extremely disoriented and confused. “Why is he dressed like that?” he hissed to Courfeyrac. Just like last time, Master was dressed in a nice suit and unshackled. It simply wasn’t fair. After the countless times he had cruelly bound Enjolras, why was he allowed to sit comfortably? 

Courfeyrac frowned and shook his head. “His attorney argued it would bias the jury if he looked like a prisoner.” Enjolras twisted his arm until his sleeves rode away enough to expose the scarring on his wrist. Courfeyrac touched his arm for a brief moment. “I know, Enjolras,” he said sadly. Grantaire must have been paying more attention than Enjolras thought, because he squeezed his hand a few times. 

Enjolras knew he should pay attention to what was being said, but whenever he looked down and tried to focus on the prosecutor addressing the jury with her opening statement, the outline of which Enjolras had read countless times, his eyes kept being drawn back to Master. He looked so…normal and relaxed, and Enjolras was almost grateful he couldn’t see his face, because any expression other than fear or misery would just make him angrier. He tried again to listen, but it felt like when he had carried Grantaire into the hospital and could hear the nurse trying to talk to him but none of it was clear enough to understand. This frightened him even more, and he stared at his and Grantaire’s joined hands and reminded himself over and over that Grantaire was safe and alive, that he was going to remain safe and alive, that he and Enjolras could stay together as long as they wanted.

It must have taken him longer than he thought for the constriction in his chest to ease, because when he came back to himself, the prosecutor was sitting back down. She must have done her job well, because every member of the jury looked angry or sad or horrified, or some combination of the three. A few were terribly pale and one or two looked like they might be sick. Enjolras almost felt bad for them; they had nothing to do with this, and it was only chance that they had been summoned for jury duty at exactly the wrong time to be in the pool for this case. It was unfortunate they had to suffer in their own unique way because of what Master had done.

Master’s attorney stood up, and Enjolras wished he had chosen now to zone out instead. The knuckles of his free hand turned white as they grasped the arm of his seat, and it took every ounce of effort to keep from doing the same with his other hand, as he listened to the man explain that while it was undeniable Master had beaten and starved Enjolras, was there any proof it wasn’t just a game gone wrong? Was there any proof it had happened as many times as the prosecution claimed? “We guessed something like this would happened,” Coufeyrac reminded him, and he was right, because Enjolras had been coached for this, but it was hard to stay calm when he was flooded with memories of being cold and exhausted and hungry and in horrific pain; he tried to think about all the times Grantaire had gone out of his way to get him the privileges of extra rest or more food or a little bit of medicine, if he could, or even just his love and attention, which was always. 

Grantaire should never have been forced to have sex against his will, either, and when the attorney started to describe it with terms that were distinctly not rape, Enjolras was seized by a particularly strong urge to jump from the railing on top of Master and beat him until he was too broken to ever even think of sleeping with someone in any capacity ever again. Before he could do something incredibly stupid, Éponine leaned forward from where she sat behind Grantaire and loudly whispered, “I know. He’s a fucking asshole.” Enjolras didn’t know if she meant Master or the attorney, but it took the edge off his anger. He knew that it was wrong and terrible, that he shouldn’t wish it on any other person, but he wondered what sort of facility Master would end up in, and whether he might be raped by the other inmates. He knew better than to admit that desire out loud, but he entertained himself with fantasies of Master suffering like Grantaire had, with no hope of help or escape.

He withdrew from these thoughts when Courfeyrac tapped him and then gestured that they should get up and leave. Enjolras shook his head to clear it and realized the judge was wrapping things up to break for lunch. He was conscious of everyone around them watching as he encouraged Grantaire to stand and hurried him out, but the bailiff had them safely ensconced in their private room in record time. He let them know he would give them a five minute warning before the trial resumed and then they were alone. 

Enjolras settled Grantaire on the couch and wished again he had thought to bring some blankets. He squeezed Grantaire’s shoulder and went to the door and asked the bailiff if he could get any. He focused on keeping his hands from trembling, as he asked a virtual stranger for something, but by the time he had unpacked the food Jehan had prepared for them, there was a knock and he was rewarded with a large blanket. It was scratchy and smelled a little musty and seemed like it was maybe a shock blanket from a first aid kit somewhere, but Grantaire wasted no time in wrapping it around himself. 

Enjolras wondered if he had made the right choice in coming after all. It wasn’t proving a point to anyone, let alone Master, and both he and Grantaire were suffering all the more for it. He forced himself to eat his sandwich and didn’t say anything when Grantaire only managed to eat a few plain crackers. Enjolras did feel a little better after eating, though he mostly just had more energy to be angry. He turned to Grantaire, who was now sitting slumped to the side, his eyes closed.

“I never wanted it,” he whispered, when he must have sensed Enjolras looking at him. A single tear slipped out and ran down his cheek. Enjolras kissed his forehead again, which still felt a little warm, and then hugged him.

“I know, Grantaire. I know you didn’t.” Grantaire didn’t cry, which was somehow even worse than if he had. “Do you want to go home?” Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras didn’t know how to decide; he didn’t know if he could sit through another four hours of trial, but he didn’t want to break so easily, either. He kissed Grantaire again and went to the door and asked to see the prosecutor. She came a few minutes later.

“Hello, Enjolras, Grantaire,” she said when she entered the room, shutting the door but staying by it and out of their personal space. “How are you doing after this morning? I know it must have been hard.”

“What’s going to happen this afternoon?” Enjolras asked. He had spent enough time with Grantaire to know how to avoid a question.

“We’re going to call everyone from the first hospital to testify. It was a long way to travel, and I think we’ll be able to get through all of them in an afternoon so they can go home tonight.” 

Enjolras turned away to bundle Grantaire more tightly into his blanket, trying to not let his memories overwhelm him, but it just reminded him of wrapping Grantaire in their quilt and wondering if he was going to die. He only realized he was starting to hyperventilate when he felt Grantaire pull an arm out and start to rub his back. When he regained control, the prosecutor was gone, and Jehan was standing in the door, already wearing their coat. “Enjolras, why don’t we go home now and you can both get some rest?” Enjolras felt tears burning at his eyes as he nodded, hating himself for still being so fucking fragile.

He was grateful no one else came to see them off, and that Jehan only said they’d be in the family room before letting them go to their own room. Grantaire came out of his stupor long enough to quickly change into his pajamas, knotting the hoodie string under his chin so tightly it had to be painful, before he laid down in their nest. Enjolras changed as well, fishing out a shirt from the hamper that Grantaire had worn earlier in the week to put on under his sweater, which was maybe less than hygienic, but the scent was comforting. He sat at Grantaire’s feet. “Grantaire, do you want to cuddle, or do you want me to give you some space? Or something else” He had anticipated Grantaire’s shrug, but was still saddened by it. “Grantaire, I want to do whatever you want, but you have to tell me what that is.”

Grantaire shifted and made a half-hearted attempt to push the blankets back, which Enjolras took as an invitation to join him. As soon he was settled and opened his arms, Grantaire moved and clung to him with such speed and force that Enjolras was almost rolled over. He rubbed Grantaire’s back and made soothing sounds, letting Grantaire silently knead the fistfuls of sweater he had grabbed for as long as he needed. Grantaire still didn’t cry. Finally, he pulled away, trembling and flushed, though he looked a little too pale underneath that. “You said – that if I wanted – that I could ask-”

“Oh, Grantaire.” This was the first time Grantaire had asked for sex after their initial encounter, and Enjolras didn’t know how exactly to deny him. There was too much fabric in the way for him to feel if Grantaire was aroused, but he was not getting the impression that Grantaire suddenly wanted sex because it sounded fun and would feel good. Enjolras didn’t feel in the mood at all, and he had a sinking feeling that Grantaire would be much more upset if he got himself off but then wasn’t allowed to do the same for his partner, than if they did nothing at all. “Can I ask what brought this on? I’m not saying no, I just want to understand.” It was a half-truth, but Enjolras didn’t want to make the day any worse.

Grantaire was silent for a moment, and Enjolras thought he was going to stay that way, and then he wailed, “Because I’m disgusting and you’re going to get rid of me,” into Enjolras’s shoulder.

“Shh, Grantaire. You’re not disgusting, and I’m not getting rid of you.” Now Grantaire cried, loud and long, and Enjolras tried to keep up a flow of soothing words. Grantaire was limp and exhausted when he finally managed to stop, though a few stray sobs still came out. 

“Grantaire-”

“Sorry, I know you don’t want to. That you didn’t want to,” Grantaire cut him off hoarsely. 

“Grantaire, I know we have very different feelings about sex,” Enjolras said slowly, trying to explain without upsetting his partner even further, because like he had said, he did not find Grantaire repulsive in the least, “but I don’t think I want to have it if it’s not going to be fun, or at least enjoyable for both of us. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Grantaire wiped at his face with his sleeve, sounding resigned to a terrible fate. Enjolras tried to think – Grantaire had said what he really wanted was to feel protected and loved and secure, despite what had happened to him, though he had described it with different words.

“May I make a suggestion, Grantaire?” Enjolras offered. Normally he might worry he would make things worse, but it was hard to imagine this getting much worse. He received a particularly despondent shrug in reply. “Maybe we could – we could cuddle, but without our shirts on?” He knew he had turned bright red, which was ridiculous, because communication was important and this was decidedly not sexual – but it was intimate, and that was the point. No wonder Grantaire got so nervous to ask for things, when Enjolras felt like this even though Grantaire automatically agreed with everything he suggested.

“You would like that?” Grantaire whispered, stunned. Enjolras hated that he wasn’t better at this, that Grantaire was still so insecure in their relationship.

“Of course I would like it. But only if you want it for your own sake.”

“Al-alright,” Grantaire agreed. Enjolras was a little surprised when his partner’s hands went to the hem of his sweater, though not at all surprised when Grantaire chose to undress himself. Enjolras kept himself occupied by keeping the comforter pulled up to their chins, so that there was no question of him seeing anything. When Grantaire had finished and rolled to his side like when they spooned, Enjolras felt the thrill of that good-nervousness again. They may have cuddled like this every night, but doing it skin-to-skin was new and exciting. 

He put his hand on Grantaire’s clothed hip to warn him, and then slowly eased his way over until they were flush together. 

Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Grantaire’s skin was warm and soft, and Enjolras could feel his partner’s every breath and every movement so much more like this. “Is this still alright?” he asked before he could get too carried away. It would stop being so nice if Grantaire didn’t actually like it. Grantaire nodded this time. “Arms?” When Grantaire nodded again, Enjolras shifted and wrapped his arms around him, and they both shuddered a little at the increased contact. Grantaire emitted a whimper that sounded distinctly happy and pleased.

Enjolras was careful not to stray below Grantaire’s rib cage, which was a little too bony for this liking, so that his partner wasn’t frightened by contact any lower down. This was even better, and finally, as his arms moved up and down with Grantaire’s breath, Enjolras remembered what it was like to not constantly be afraid of losing him.


	58. Chapter Fifty-eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, can you really write slave!fic without the trope of Character A taking care of sick!Character B?
> 
> (Well, yes, I'm sure you can. But it's my not-so-secret weakness.)

Grantaire was right to expect there to be a moment of panic when he woke up, Enjolras’s bare skin pressed against his own, but he had been wrong about the reason why. As fucked up as his brain was, Master had only done this with him a few times, and it had always been about punishing Enjolras. (Not that it didn’t make Grantaire feel gross and used, but since Master had plenty of punishments where Grantaire’s suffering was the sole purpose, sleeping together, in the literal sense, hardly registered.) It only took about a second upon regaining consciousness for Grantaire to realize that this time it was Enjolras next to him. It also took that same second for him to realize he had started to sweat and was well on his way to being pretty gross. (And not in the way he normally worried about being gross. Even Enjolras couldn’t argue sweating all over your partner wasn’t gross.)

He had been rather proud of himself for hiding the onset of his cold (perhaps he owed a lot of the credit to Enjolras being hyper-focused on the trial starting, but he was going to pretend it had been mostly his own doing) and had hoped he would be able to hide for a few more days, until the snot starting gushing out everywhere. But as tunnel-y as Enjolras’s vision could get, he had noticed Grantaire’s warm forehead and he didn’t exactly have to be a doctor to put two and two together. It wasn’t even a particularly bad cold – so far just a mild sore throat and an annoying headache, and it was so odd to even register these things. Grantaire had almost always had a headache with Master, whether from hunger or fatigue or stress or fear or a crash after an adrenaline crash, and a sore throat hadn’t exactly been uncommon, though he didn’t particularly want to think about why that had been the case.

He knew he should have said something to Enjolras, that all this close contact was the perfect way to spread his sickness, but he worried Enjolras would worry, or would pay him a lot of attention. (Or would do the right thing, whether by choice or…strong suggestion from others, and leave him alone. Yet another thing Grantaire didn’t want to think about.)

“Grantaire? Are you awake?” Enjolras asked quietly. Grantaire hummed, because humming wasn’t words, so maybe Enjolras would get the hint and not try to have a conversation. “Do you want to roll over?” Grantaire did not want to roll over, but he did anyway. He tried not to think about how if he pushed the blankets down, he could admire Enjolras, shirtless, but the texture of Enjolras’s chest and wrist scars as he shifted was a very effective boner killer. As was Enjolras putting a (wonderfully cool) hand to his forehead. “Grantaire, you’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” and Grantaire knew he said it too quickly even as he was speaking the words. “It’s just warmer, sleeping – like this.” That was a fact, their body heat more easily shared without any layers in the way. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras snapped, and Grantaire flinched away, not that there was really anywhere to go. Enjolras closed his eyes, face tight. “I’m sorry, Grantaire,” he said softly, “I’m just scared. Last time, I didn’t know then either, and then….” Enjolras choked up and trailed off.

“Enjolras, it’s only a cold. I promise. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.”

Enjolras frowned. “Of course I’m going to worry about you.” That wasn’t exactly what Grantaire said, but whatever. “What do you need? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want to take anything?” 

Grantaire hadn’t even thought about asking for anything. Illness was just something he suffered in silence, and eventually it went away, or just merged back with his regular pain and discomfort. The idea that he could purposely try to feel better was strange. “I’m fine, really. I just need rest, I guess. But I should move. I don’t want you to catch it.”

“Grantaire, I’ve already been exposed. If I have it, I have it. We can stay like this.” 

Grantaire kept himself from arguing, and they did in fact stay like that. He was tired but no longer that sleepy, so he just hovered between wakefulness and dozing, though he became a little more aware of his surroundings every time Enjolras started drumming his fingers on his back. It would go on for some time, until Enjolras realized what he was doing, then it would stop, his hand perfectly still, and then start again even faster. “You can call someone, if you want,” Grantaire finally said.

Enjolras’s fingers stopped in the air and then slowly lowered down. “I know there’s nothing to do for a cold, I just – after last time, I know this isn’t the same, but I can’t stop thinking-” He paused and Grantaire knew he was biting his lip. “I know it’s selfish to ask, I know you don’t want to be examined – to be touched-”

“Enjolras, it’s fine. I can handle it if it will put your mind at ease.” He swallowed. “I know you’re still nervous about – his cane, so if you want to call…I don’t mind.”

“No, if you can handle it, so can I. I know Joly’s not going to hurt me. He should come if it makes you more comfortable.”

“No, I can only handle it if you’re not – unsettled, too. Please. I’ll be fine. I already talked about – stuff, with him.” If Grantaire could manage to ask Dr. Combeferre about all the damage inside of him, he could put up with a few minutes of professional poking and prodding if it kept Enjolras from worrying himself sick, whether figuratively or literally.

“You’re too good to me, Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered, before he pulled away. Grantaire was careful not to look until the hasty rustling stopped, and when he saw Enjolras in his oversize sweater, no layers underneath meaning his collarbone was fully exposed and there was the general suggestion of skin through the knit fabric, Grantaire almost forgot about his headache in his sudden jealousy that others were going to see Enjolras like this. He tried to stop, because it was hardly right for him to feel possessive of Enjolras, but it was really fucking hard when his general crappy feeling lowered his defenses. 

Enjolras was gone longer than he expected, but he tried not to worry because the only voice that sounded agitated was Enjolras’s. Grantaire used the time to sit up and pull his T-shirt on and shrug back into his onesie. Enjolras finally returned, carefully balancing an oversized novelty mug in each hand. He put one, full of some (probably weird) tea on the nightstand and handed the other, full of soup, to Grantaire. “Here. Musichetta apparently made a giant batch to freeze just for cases like these.” Grantaire blew on it and took a sip. It was much, much better than Master’s canned crap. Enjolras sat with his arm around Grantaire’s waist as he drank. “Combeferre will be here in about twenty minutes. He said he’ll want to listen to your lungs, so he’ll need – access.” 

Those twenty minutes felt more like twenty seconds, but Grantaire didn’t complain (out loud) when Enjolras guided him out. The family room was better than having someone else come into the bedroom. He had left his shirt on with the onesie open, but wrapped his comforter around himself, because surely Dr. Combeferre didn’t need him uncovered the whole time. He almost asked Enjolras to stop holding him, because after all he had done to avoid being touched while Enjolras was also touching him, he didn’t want to start now, but he reminded himself this was just a brief medical exam. (And Enjolras’s touch helped him feel less like he needed to run away.) 

Dr. Combeferre arrived carrying a small bag and wearing his white coat, which seemed like a little overkill, but Grantaire had to admit it helped remind him Dr. Combeferre was only going to touch him in a professional capacity. Jehan retreated to the kitchen, and Éponine was nowhere to be found, probably hidden away in her room. Dr. Combeferre pulled one of the chairs over from the kitchen table and then thoroughly washed his hands. 

Grantaire tried to focus on Enjolras’s presence and contact as he submitted to Dr. Combeferre’s examination. He appreciated that the thermometer only had to be run across his forehead to take his temperature, rather than having to hold something in his mouth. Dr. Combeferre noted Grantaire didn’t have a fever, but his temperature was elevated enough he probably still didn’t feel very great. Having his ears and nose and throat examined was more uncomfortable, but he only really faltered when asked to tip his head back so that Dr. Combeferre could feel his lymph nodes. Master had never actually choked him (probably some combination of it just not being his thing and his not wanting to cause irreparable harm) but that didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed tipping Grantaire’s head back, in a very similar way, just to remind him (unnecessarily) who was in charge. Grantaire finally complied after reminding himself this was for Enjolras, and it would be over soon.

The worst was when Dr. Combeferre finally asked to listen to his lungs, warming the metal of his stethoscope against his palm as Grantaire very, very slowly opened his comforter and let the top of his onesie pool at his waist. At least he could keep his eyes jammed closed as he tried to comply with Dr. Comberre’s commands to take deep, slow breaths, when he just wanted to hyperventilate and run away, and he might have, if Enjolras hadn’t held him even more tightly. 

Finally, it was over. Grantaire glanced at the clock on the microwave and was surprised to see the whole thing had taken less than five minutes. “Well, the bad news is you have a cold and probably aren’t going to feel very good for the next five to ten days, but the good news is it’s nothing but a cold. Your lungs sound fine, and you don’t have any type of infection. My recommendation is plenty of fluids and rest.” Dr. Combeferre looked over at Enjolras, who was frowning.

“That’s all you can do?”

“Enjolras, believe me, I would love if there were a cure for the common cold.” He rummaged in his bag. “Grantaire, if you’re in pain or uncomfortable from your temperature, you can take ibuprofen. If that’s not enough, let me know and we can try a higher dosage. I did bring something for your congestion. I would start with a half-dose and see if that’s enough.” 

Enjolras snatched the bottle from Dr. Combeferre’s hands and then glared at him. “Why only half-doses?” Grantaire was just happy he was going to be allowed to take anything, that he didn’t see the point of bickering about the exact amount. At least Enjolras wasn’t throwing things this time.

“You’re both underweight, Enjolras. A half-dose will probably be enough to make Grantaire feel better, while a full dose might actually make him feel worse.”

“Oh.” Enjolras looked away. 

“Grantaire, are you comfortable with all this?” Grantaire almost forgot himself and barely kept from looking up in surprise. He had gone used to everyone speaking to both of them but really only talking to Enjolras. He didn’t mind, since Enjolras was actually good at talking (not just spouting random shit) and it was a good safeguard against Grantaire accidentally saying something stupid. 

“It’s – fine,” he managed. He was glad when Dr. Combeferre got up to leave and Jehan only told them to come ask if they needed anything. Enjolras detoured to the bathroom to grab the bottle of ibuprofen and then made a big deal of adjusting their nest after he had locked them back in, and Grantaire waited patiently, even though he mostly just wanted to lie down and there was no noticeable change when Enjolras had finished, but he seemed more satisfied, so it was worth it. Grantaire dry-swallowed the proffered pills while Enjolras measured out the cold medicine with a furrowed brow. 

He went to hand the little cup to Grantaire and then stopped. “Do you want something to wash it down with?” 

Grantaire snorted, which was distinctly unattractive, but Enjolras offering him a chaser for cold medicine was one of the few legitimately funny things that had happened in a long time. “Enjolras, this might come as a total shock, but I do in fact know how to do a shot.” He took the cup out of Enjolras’s hand and knocked it back, suppressing his urge to cough a little because he was a little out of practice, and cold medicine didn’t exactly go down the way alcohol did. But he might as well get used to it, because the fun kind of shot was permanently off-limits.

Grantaire was surprised he felt tired again, and he was glad to see Enjolras retrieve his book before settling down, because he could hardly be ready to sleep again. It felt wrong to curl up against Enjolras’s leg as he propped himself up to read, but that’s where Enjolras guided him, and when Grantaire pressed his face to his hip, he made a happy sound in response, instead of pushing him away. All the medicine must have helped more than Grantaire thought, because the next thing he knew, it was very dark. Enjolras must have gotten up at some point to turn off the light, but he was still sitting up and softly stroking Grantaire’s forehead. 

Grantaire wanted to enjoy this and pretend he had never woken up, but if Enjolras stayed up all night worrying about whatever it was that was worrying him this time, he would be terribly exhausted in court tomorrow (or maybe it was later today.) “What’s wrong?” 

Enjolras looked down at him, but it was too hard to read his expression in the dark. To Grantaire’s surprise, he kept rubbing his forehead. “It’s my fault you got sick.”

Grantaire would’ve laughed, but Enjolras sounded so serious. “Enjolras, maybe you’ve never heard of it, but there’s this thing called germs. I’m pretty sure that’s why I got sick.”

Enjolras was silent for a minute, which was almost worst. “Do you think going made any difference?” he asked finally, quietly.

“I thought entrapment was illegal.”

Enjolras huffed and rubbed Grantaire’s temple with his thumb. “I’m not trying to entrap you. I want your honest opinion.”

Grantaire gave himself time to formulate an answer that wasn’t just laughter. “I think in the case of what – he’ll think, it’s a Catch-22. Either we go because we need some sort of closure, which gives him the power to drag it on as long as possible to keep controlling us, or we stay home because we’re too terrified to face him, which is just really another type of control. But in terms of making a difference, I don’t think there’s honestly much we can do besides testify when it's time. We already told the prosectuors everything they needed to know.”

Enjolras sighed, but it sounded sad instead of exasperated. “You’re right.” Grantaire almost fell over even though he was already laying down. “I’m sorry, Grantaire, I should’ve seen, but I just wanted to, I don’t know, feel like I was the one who finally had some control. But all I did was make you stressed and scared.”

“Enjolras, I didn’t have to go.”

Grantaire could tell Enjolras was giving him a pointed look even though he couldn’t see it. “Let’s stay home.” Grantaire opened his mouth to protest. “At least until you feel better. Then we can talk about it again.”

“Enjolras, it’s fine. I can sit around feeling blah in court just as easily as I can here. I know this is important to you.”

“You’re important to me, Grantaire. You’re the most important.” Enjolras squirmed down next to him. “We can argue tomorrow if you want, but I want you to get better before we do anything else.”

As much as Grantaire did want to argue, now, when he woke up around dawn with a terrible headache and a block of mucus firmly lodged in his head, he was glad Enjolras had already decided they would stay home. He extricated himself and crept around quietly to take another round of medicine, which he realized was pointless when he woke up the whole block clearing out his sinuses. Enjolras blinked at him sleepily when he came back. “Maybe you were right,” Grantaire said before hacking up a little more gunk.

“Sometimes I am,” Enjolras mumbled as he clumsily pulled the blankets back over them. 

When Grantaire woke up for real, he still felt crappy, but better. Maybe it had been worth it to let Dr. Combeferre come see him for his own sake. Enjolras was once again sitting up, actually reading this time, but he set his book aside as soon as he noticed Grantaire. He twisted around to grab a thermos from the nightstand. “Here. I wanted it to be ready whenever you wanted it.” Grantaire started to pour soup into the lid and then had to stop so he didn’t spill when he suddenly started to tear up. “Grantaire? What is it?” Enjolras reached out to steady his shaking hands. “I’m sorry I got up while you were still sleeping. I just wanted to tell Jehan and get you something to eat.”

Grantaire shook his head. He wished his hands were free so he could wipe his eyes. “No, it’s not that. I don’t mind that. It’s just – you, doing all this – for me.” 

“I wouldn’t call getting you some soup ‘all this,’” Enjolras said, but he smiled gently as he said it. Grantaire looked down and focused on drinking his soup and not embarrassing himself (any further.) Enjolras took the thermos when he finished and got up. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared, and returned after a few minutes with an armful of clothes and Grantaire’s towel in his arms. Grantaire forced himself up and took the pile, pleasantly surprised to find it warm. He looked up and Enjolras blushed. “I made Jehan put them in the dryer.”

“Enjolras, it’s just a cold, you really don’t-”

“I know I don’t, Grantaire. I want to. I love you, and now that I managed to pull my head out of my ass, I want to actually show you.” He reached out and rubbed Grantaire’s arm. “I promise it’s not just because of, you know…I’m not just trying to pretend like I can make up for before. I know it’s just a cold, and I know you’d get better without intervention, but that doesn’t mean you don’t feel crappy or that I don’t want to help you be more comfortable.”

“OK,” Grantaire said and then fled to the bathroom. He made the water a little too hot to distract himself, but it stopped working as he adjusted to the temperature. It felt so good to have Enjolras going out of his way to do little things for him and saying he loved him and changing his mind based on Grantaire’s opinion. His stomach still hurt with guilt, and he knew he should go out and tell Enjolras to stop all this nonsense, but as he dried off with his warm towel and put on his warm, clean pajamas, he couldn’t make himself do it. 

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he was too surprised to say anything when he encountered Enjolras towing their large comforter behind him like a sled, all their blankets piled on top. Enjolras looked sheepish. “I asked Jehan to wash everything, but it was…slightly heavier than anticipated.” Grantaire went to try to take the other end, but Enjolras shooed him away to the couch, where he had already put up a few new blankets. “Good morning, Grantaire,” Jehan said, putting several water bottles on the table in front of him. “How are you feeling today?” Grantaire shrugged, not entirely sure what the right answer was. Jehan didn’t press, or say anything about skipping out on the trial, but Grantaire still felt relieved when Enjolras joined him. He picked out a documentary about some obscure historical political figure to watch (Master de Courfeyrac had certainly known his audience when compiling the list) but it seemed like it would lull him to sleep pretty quickly but hold Enjolras’s interest. 

That’s why he was surprised to hear Enjolras and Jehan speaking in low voices when he drifted awake. Enjolras was petting his forehead again, and Grantaire wondered if it was a bad idea to do that in front of Jehan, but it seemed like too much effort to open his eyes and say something. And Enjolras’s murmuring voice was soothing, as was the idea he was purposely speaking quietly so as not to disturb Grantaire. Eventually, they stopped talking, and Grantaire heard Jehan rustling around. Enjolras flinched a little when the balcony door was dragged open, and Grantaire tried not to shiver as the cold air blew in, but it wasn’t long before Jehan finished and closed the door again. They then went to their room, or whatever it was they were doing, it took much longer.

Grantaire dared to crack his eyes open, and was pleased to find Enjolras so focused on the little gardening center Jehan was setting up on the kitchen table to notice. He had to shut them in a hurry when Enjolras shifted to get up, though he didn’t join Jehan until after re-arranging Grantaire in a more comfortable position. Jehan, meanwhile, had spread newspaper over the table (Grantaire had to wonder if Éponine knew her kitchen table was so…multipurpose) and opened a small bag of soil and some sort of planting tray. They demonstrated how to fill each divot with soil and seeds, Enjolras watching intently like it was a matter of life and death. Jehan supervised Enjolras’s first few attempts, and then left him to it.

Had Enjolras finally snapped? Grantaire mused that if he had, there were far more…destructive things he could do than garden. Having a plant or two for Enjolras to tend couldn’t be bad. (And, unlike Grantaire, plants weren’t liable to have emotional breakdowns at any moment.) When Enjolras finally finished, taking far longer than seemed strictly necessary, Jehan cleared off a space by the window and let Enjolras set his tray in the sunshine. Enjolras kept staring at it, and Grantaire had to wonder if he thought whatever it was might sprout faster if he glared hard enough. (Honestly, Grantaire thought there was, somehow, a slim chance that might be true.) But finally Enjolras must have decided his plants were not going to spontaneously sprout or light on fire or fall off the table on their own or do anything except sit there in the dirt, and he came back to the couch.

Grantaire closed his eyes in time, but mumbled like he was being disturbed when Enjolras sat back down with him. “Sorry,” he whispered as he shifted the blankets.

“What’s happening?” 

“Sorry,” Enjolras repeated, “I was working on, uh – on a project.” 

“How mysterious.” Grantaire shut his eyes. There was a reason he had always been the one to tell Master half-truths and try to discreetly manipulate things. He cracked his eyes open like the light was too bright, and he saw Enjolras had turned bright red. He had no idea what was so embarrassing about gardening. 

“It’s nothing bad, I promise, Grantaire. It’s probably really silly anyway.”

“Enjolras, I don’t think you are constitutionally capable of doing anything silly.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but he didn’t stop blushing. “Go back to sleep, Grantaire.” That seemed unfair, since abruptly ending conversations was supposed to be Grantaire’s thing, but Enjolras was a rather warm and comfortable pillow, and was also Enjolras, so he complied.


	59. Chapter Fifty-nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The creative liberties with how trials actually work continue.

Enjolras paced up and down his room at the courthouse. Every few laps, he caught himself twisting his fingers together, but when he made himself stop, he would start to unconsciously rub the sleeves of Grantaire’s sweater instead, which, while soft at first, had by now made his palms sting and burn. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had offered to sit with him while Grantaire testified, but Enjolras hadn’t known how to say yes to Combeferre but no to Courfeyrac. He knew they would leave when he asked them to, but he did not want Grantaire to come in to what should be a safe place and have to see Courfeyrac there. Not that Grantaire would ever voice such a complaint, but Enjolras knew.

He had felt especially bad after Combeferre had humored them during Grantaire’s cold. Enjolras knew he hadn’t really done anything, that there wasn’t really anything to be done, but it had seemed like a medical miracle that Grantaire went from feeling ill to almost perfectly well again in about a week. He knew, logically, that it was just the fluids and good food and rest that had done it, since the medicine made Grantaire more comfortable but didn’t speed up the actual healing process, but it still amazed him. 

He had almost burst into tears, suddenly and unexpectedly, one morning when Grantaire still had his cough but assured Enjolras he actually felt much better than he sounded, and Enjolras could see that was the truth. Other than truly terrible illnesses, when Master would finally grant them some extra privileges, they didn’t get over minor colds so much as have them merge back into their regular pain and misery. But he reminded himself that just because Combeferre had come over and not mocked him for panicking over nothing and treated Grantaire with respect just like a normal patient, neither of them owed him anything in turn. Not that the actual act of saying no had been particularly easy or pleasant.

He was surprised that after he had rejected their offer, the rest of his friends had, figuratively, just about lined up out the door to suggest they would be more than happy to do it instead. It seemed so silly at first, because there was literally nothing to do but sit and wait, not that he was doing much sitting, and he wondered if everyone was so insistent because they thought he might burst into the courtroom if left to his own devices. He would never do such a thing, because Grantaire had actually made it clear he did not want Enjolras there, which was the equivalent of another person shouting it from the rooftops. He knew he wasn’t the perfect partner by any means, but it stung how little faith his friends had in him when it came to relationships.

It was Grantaire who had suggested quietly, after watching Enjolras brood over this in silence for an entire afternoon, that perhaps it had more to do with the fact that Enjolras’s track record of staying where he was asked to was...less than stellar. That was a fair, and accurate, point. The bailiffs that escorted them around the courthouse were all friendly and sympathetic, and Enjolras could probably take any of them by surprise if he suddenly burst from their sanctuary and sprinted for the courtroom. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that he hadn’t thought of this, that despite growing stronger and thinking more clearly, he was becoming less and less vigilant about planning for contingencies. 

He had wanted to ask Grantaire about it, but he didn’t know how to reveal he had stopped thinking like before without his partner taking it as proof he didn’t care. He would have spent hours brooding on that question as well, but when he began to grind his teeth, Grantaire settled them in their nest and massaged his temples. It had started when Enjolras was preparing to give his own testimony; he forced himself to stop whenever he caught himself doing it, but he must have also done it in his sleep, because he had a perpetual, low-grade headache. Once he had started testifying, it was full-blown and painful and distracting, and this massage had become a part of their nightly routine.

Enjolras had wondered whether he should ask Grantaire to stop, or at least tell him it wasn’t necessary. Grantaire had done exactly as Enjolras asked, sitting in the front row of the balcony, though still protectively surrounded by their friends, so that Enjolras could look up at him whenever he wanted. Enjolras had planned not to do it too often, able to picture Master’s smirk in his head even though he had decided he was going to act like Master wasn’t even there, but that plan had been cast aside in the first hour. Grantaire sat with his head bowed, though Enjolras knew he was watching from under his eyelashes, and each successive question made him collapse a little further in on himself, and certain questions made him flinch in anticipation of Enjolras’s responses.

Enjolras had needed to dig his nails into his palms to focus, and by the end of the morning he had broken the skin in several places. Grantaire had been characteristically reticent when they stopped for lunch, but Enjolras managed to extract enough information to understand that for his partner this was the worst of all possible public shamings, having a room full of people hear all that had happened to Enjolras, because each instance was just another example of personal failure on Grantaire’s part. Enjolras had no longer had to ask why Grantaire would choose to suffer like that, instead of waiting like Enjolras was waiting now; his partner found even the most painful public spectacle better than a private rejection.

Enjolras knew none of their friends were actually judging Grantaire, that they most certainly admired his strength and courage and love, but surely Grantaire had suffered enough? He was determined that first night, as Grantaire gently cleaned and dressed his palms, to find a way to tell him that he should excuse himself for now, not because Enjolras didn’t need him but because he loved him. Grantaire had looked up at Enjolras from where he knelt on the bathroom floor once he had finished, and Enjolras had promptly had his first real panic attack since Combeferre had started him on medication. There was no way he could sit in the same room as Master without being able to see Grantaire was safe and well. He only got himself under control after Grantaire negotiated them back into their nest and into shirtless spoons. 

But still. Just because it comforted him and was difficult to discuss, it didn’t mean he should just accept Grantaire doting on him every night without question. He meditated on this after he was calm and they had redressed and Grantaire had gone to Jehan, all by himself, to ask for the peppermint oil again, and was rubbing his temples and forehead. Was he doing anything to make Grantaire feel compelled to act this way? Perhaps he was slightly too expectant, but he couldn’t think of anything else. 

When all of the tension was gone from his head, he opened his eyes to look up at Grantaire from where his head was sitting in his partner’s lap, he saw much of the tension and sadness was gone from Grantaire’s face as well. He wondered what someone like Cosette might say about this, but if this arrangement made them both happier, should he really agonize over changing it just because he felt guilty? He had plenty of other things to agonize over. Like waiting for Grantaire. 

Éponine was sprawled on the couch, eyes closed, but Enjolras could wake her up if he really wanted to talk to her to pass the time. He wouldn’t though, and not just because she had been going straight from the courthouse to work every evening and working non-stop on weekends. She was the one he had finally asked to sit with him, because as upset as he had been at the thought that his friends didn’t trust him, he ultimately didn’t trust himself. It was the pinnacle of pettiness, but he was jealous of Joly, and he worried what he might do if left alone to think about someone else was getting to spend the day with Grantaire while he was not. As unrealistic and stupid as it would be, Enjolras was sorely tempted to barge into the courtroom after all, pick Grantaire up, and carry him off to somewhere far away. 

He couldn’t help but wonder what was happening. Even though he had been kept away from Grantaire’s preparations, he had been told today should just be the direct examination, all questions Grantaire had practiced multiple times. It couldn’t be too bad, could it? He stopped pacing for a moment to force his hands still. This was another reason he had chosen Éponine; he imagined any of his other friends would have scolded him by now. But did any of them have a partner in the middle of talking about his years of sexual abuse? No. But what could he do but wait?

He had already prepared everything he could think of. Grantaire’s comforter sat folded on the table, his hat resting on top, as well as the largest hoodie Enjolras could find, in case Grantaire wanted that extra security. He had made sure Jehan packed the few snacks Grantaire had managed to eat on other trial days, despite it not exactly being an optimal or nutritious assortment of food, and there were multiple kinds of juice in the fridge in case Grantaire didn’t feel like eating at all. He suspected Éponine would leave of her own accord when Grantaire appeared, but he had rehearsed how to ask her, politely, to please go, just in case. None of this felt very useful, so he reminded himself not too long ago he would not have been able to guarantee Grantaire food or warmth or comfort or privacy or affection, so it did count for something. 

But thinking about all that only reminded him that after a break, he was going to have to let Grantaire go again, to repeat the horrors of the morning. And then he was going to have to do it for several more days. He had no idea how Grantaire had had the courage to help him escape, especially when he had fully expected to never see him again. Enjolras wiped roughly at his eyes. He was far more angry than sad, but it wouldn’t be right to be teary in front of Grantaire, not today.

He tried to think other thoughts, of the little bits of happiness they would have that night. They had developed a new routine once the trial had started, and it helped both of them settle, somewhat, at night. Enjolras was determined nothing would be different today, because Grantaire would likely be hypersensitive to any type of change and find a way to interpret it as a rejection. 

He would hold Grantaire’s hand as soon as they were reunited and hold him close in the taxi back to the apartment. They would both change into their pajamas while Jehan made dinner; while giving Grantaire his privacy, Enjolras would slip away to check on his plants, even though most days that just involved staring at them to make sure they hadn’t spontaneously died, but he would make sure to be back outside their bedroom door when Grantaire emerged, so he could adjust his hood and fuss over making sure he was warm and cozy enough. 

Dinners had been conducted in almost total silence once the trial started, Jehan so pale and drawn that they didn’t seem to have the energy to try to carry on a conversation, let alone force them to eat. Enjolras usually managed, but some nights he worried about how little Grantaire got down. He knew how much hunger Grantaire could endure, and he worried how long Grantaire might go again without feeling particularly compelled to eat a real meal, but if his partner felt that terrible, Enjolras decided not to push it; eating more slowly than usual to give Grantaire extra time at the table was his only concession. Then they would sit in their nest, pressed close together; they had given up sitting in the closet after the first day, when Enjolras hadn’t even pretended to read and Grantaire had barely pretended to draw. Eventually, Grantaire would pull away, though the timing of that varied significantly day-to-day, to fetch the scented oil and give Enjolras his massage; this dredged up his guilt again, but he knew this was important to Grantaire in ways he might never fully understand. Once Grantaire was satisfied, Enjolras would draw him down under the covers and softly kiss his forehead and then his mouth. 

Some nights, Grantaire would turn over and settle down as he was, but on the other nights, when he started to partially undress, Enjolras would follow his lead; either way, once they were comfortable, he would snake his arm out and carefully tuck the blankets around both of them and then briefly kiss the back of Grantaire’s head. It was never going to be enough to make up for what Grantaire had gone through, was going through, but, Enjolras tried to remind himself again, it was so much more than he would’ve been able to do before. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth when he realized he had started to grind his teeth again. 

He almost bit it off when the door suddenly banged open. Éponine sat up, and even though she looked a little bleary, she managed to get off the sofa just in time for Grantaire to grab his comforter from the table and flop down in her place. By the time Enjolras turned to the door, she had already closed it behind her as she left. He looked at the microwave and was slightly relieved to see it was still mid-morning, and he hadn’t completely lost track of time; they didn’t stop for lunch at the same exact time every day, but this was far too early.

He shook his head to clear it. It did matter why this had happened, but it was more important to take care of Grantaire right now. His partner had drawn the comforter over his head but was still lying fairly straight, exposed from the knees down. Enjolras sat next to him and put a hand slowly on his calf; Grantaire flinched slightly but then was still. Enjolras eased off his partner’s shoes and once he had drawn his legs up towards his chest on his own, Enjolras tucked the blanket under him so he was totally covered. He wondered vaguely if this was too enabling, if he should make Grantaire sit up and tell him what happened, but he couldn’t. As he smoothed the blanket one last time, his hand bumped something on the sofa, and he pulled it out; he immediately dropped it when he realized it was Éponine’s phone. It must have fallen out of her pocket while she was sleeping. She had probably noticed by now, but was too polite to come ask for it; Enjolras decided she would be fine not having it for an hour or so.

He slipped from his spot to sit on the floor by Grantaire’s head. He went to rub his partner’s back and found that, while Grantaire was perfectly silent, he was shaking with sobs. Enjolras wanted to spring up and storm from the room and find out what had upset him so, so terribly, but there was no way he could leave Grantaire like this. He gently rubbed his back instead. “Grantaire? What happened?” His partner only continued to shake. “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me.” He squeezed what he thought was Grantaire’s shoulder. “I love you, Grantaire. No matter what happened.”

Enjolras didn’t know how long it would be before someone came to collect Grantaire, and he prepared himself to yell at whoever it might be. He didn’t care who the fuck it was, no one was going to drag Grantaire away when he was like this. 

Grantaire didn’t stop crying, and Enjolras didn’t know what to do. He kept making soothing sounds and rubbing Grantaire’s back, but it didn’t do any good. As he contemplated his own impotence, a terrible thought began to grow in his mind. Éponine’s phone was sitting right there, right where he had dropped it; all he had to do was pick it up and text Joly to find out what had happened, and then he might know what to do to comfort Grantaire. But his breath started to come faster, even as he focused on trying not to hyperventilate. Panic began to seep in at the thought of breaking the rules like that. Except it wasn’t breaking the rules. Grantaire had been given a phone, and his tablet, and the privacy to use both; they could’ve both been using them as much as they wanted, and no one would’ve known, which meant no one would punish them if they did. 

He reached over and picked up Éponine’s phone, his hand shaking so badly he almost dropped it again. No one was going to punish him. And wouldn’t it feel good, to be in the same building as Master and do something he had been specifically prohibited from doing, just to prove he could? As much as he was still finding ways to make them suffer, he couldn’t control them like before; Enjolras could defy all his rules without consequence. 

He fumbled with the lock screen, but he guessed correctly on the first try that her password was Grantaire’s birthday. He gave in and chewed on his lip while he struggled to open her texts and find the thread with Joly. He wanted to throw up as he slowly typed out a message. He realized it might be confusing not to put his name on it, especially if Éponine wasn’t with Joly and he didn’t know Enjolras had her phone, but before he could send another text to clarify, Joly himself replied with Enjolras’s name and several question marks and then typed for what felt like an eternity, though the final message was short and succinct, like Joly had been writing and re-writing it.

The prosecution had asked for a recess because every time they asked one of their planned questions about how Grantaire felt about Enjolras, the defense had objected that it was irrelevant. 

No wonder Grantaire was so upset. Enjolras carefully set Éponine’s phone on the table and toed off his own shoes. He nudged Grantaire forward until he had just enough room to spoon him from behind. He wished he had seen this coming - he just knew Master must have suggested this tactic, even if the lawyers would have needed to perfect its execution. No amount of practice would have made Grantaire comfortable with someone questioning how he felt about Enjolras, and this method was subtle enough the jury might not understand exactly what was happening. Because of course Grantaire’s feelings were relevant, they were the cornerstone upon which Master’s control of them had been built. No one could understand what had happened to them without understanding that, so of course that was a point of emphasis for the defense. How could they sleep at night, doing this? 

Enjolras kissed what he hoped was the side of his partner’s head. “Grantaire, I love you and I really - I’m sorry, I don’t know the right way to say this, I...appreciate how much you love me. I want to talk to Marius, but I promise it’s nothing bad. He’s not going to come in, and I’m going to stay right here.” Enjolras rolled up and pecked out a text to Marius saying exactly that. He knew it would hurt Courfeyrac to have Enjolras pick Marius over him, but Enjolras was really not going to have him come here, not now, and he wanted to get this over with before he lost his nerve.

It was only a few minutes before there was a quiet knock on the door and Marius slowly poked his head in, like he thought Enjolras might be waiting to strike just on the other side. Enjolras felt a little bad this was the reaction he inspired in his friends, but it wasn’t like Marius was off-base, since he had used the wait to remind himself that none of this was the fault of his friends, and he shouldn’t take his anger out on them. “Hi, Enjolras. You asked for me? I mean, obviously, you did. You just said that. Yeah.”

Enjolras left a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I’m not going to be a lawyer.”

Marius blinked rapidly and looked between Enjolras and Grantaire’s covered form. “Sure, alright. Um, it’s, you know, it’s your choice.” He softened a little. “Courf and I would never force you to become one if you didn’t want to.” Marius ducked back behind the door a little. “You can always change your mind, though. Lots of people go to law school later in life.”

“No, this is my choice. My permanent choice.” He looked down at his lap, despite himself. “Will you tell Courfeyrac?” 

“Sure.” Marius tried valiantly to smile. “Is there anything else I can do? For either of you? I know this is hard.” 

Enjolras looked back at Grantaire. “More time?”

“I don’t know how much I can do, but I’ll try.” He pulled his head back out and shut the door. There was a rustling and Grantaire’s head emerged. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but he had stopped crying. He stared silently at Enjolras. 

Enjolras took a deep breath, because this could still go wrong. “Grantaire, I would never treat anyone like you’re being treated, but I just can’t do it. I don’t want you to feel guilty or to blame yourself, or anything like that, I just can’t reconcile loving you and having the same job as the people hurting you like this. I’ll find something else to do so we have enough money. You don’t have to worry about that either.” 

“You’re doing this – because of me?” Grantaire croaked. 

“Yes. I love you.” Grantaire gave him a faint, watery smile, before laying his head back down, and he left it uncovered. 

Enjolras tucked the blanket most securely around his shoulders, and then cautiously picked up Éponine’s phone and texted Jehan to ask for his own laptop back.


	60. Chapter Sixty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers! 
> 
> And happy random Thursday in November to everyone else. :)
> 
> But either way - I'm super thankful for having a place to share my angsty/fluffy E/R thoughts.

The first thing Enjolras bought was a lap desk.

He was having enough trouble as it was getting used his laptop again, but finding a way to use it comfortably while Grantaire was curled against him was an extra challenge. It had been a few days since his partner had finally, finally, finished testifying, and he was still perpetually exhausted; Enjolras didn’t want to admit how many times he stopped to listen to Grantaire’s calm breathing to help reassure himself all was well, because the last time Grantaire had slept this much was in the hospital. 

Not that Grantaire’s breathing was always calm. Enjolras didn’t know how much sleep he had lost, but it must have been a significant amount, because he was once again plagued with horrible, constant nightmares. If Enjolras was awake to notice Grantaire having one while he, he could often soothe him with his touch, and Grantaire would seem much less troubled when he eventually woke up. But Enjolras didn’t always notice, and it wasn’t uncommon to be taken by surprise by Grantaire latching onto him and burying his face in his shoulder. 

Nights were far worse. Enjolras had tried to stay up to watch over Grantaire, so that he could get a full night’s rest, because that was just the tip of the iceberg of what he deserved, but his partner caught on right away, probably because he was the one who had taught Enjolras that particular trick. Instead, he was dragged back into consciousness multiple times a night. Sometimes it wasn’t completely, and he had quickly adapted to pulling Grantaire close and tightening his grip on him in a hazy drowse, and he would have believed it to be his own dream if Grantaire hadn’t still been upset in the morning. 

Other times he went into full alert mode, the idea that Grantaire might be taken away to have terrible things done to him still firmly rooted in his psyche. When that happened, Grantaire was usually the one to fall back asleep first, as Enjolras waited for the adrenaline to pass out of his system, just to drift into his own nightmares; though he had to admit, as terrible as those were, they were far less embarrassing than his night terrors – any scene he made didn’t leave the room.

Anything would be preferable to two nights ago, when he had been forced to ask Grantaire to repeat himself, his voice muffled from where his face was jammed into Enjolras’s chest, until he understood Grantaire wanted to hurt himself. He still didn’t know what he was supposed to say, so he tried to say all the things he thought Grantaire wanted to hear, and that were true: that he was proud of him for waking him up and telling him, that he wasn’t upset with him at all, that he loved him and was going to keep loving him. Grantaire hadn’t cried, which was somehow worse than if he had, but he also hadn’t fallen back asleep until Enjolras covered him completely with their blankets. He had pulled the top back though, after Grantaire had settled, to make sure his partner didn’t suffocate.

Grantaire had slept in very late that next morning, and Enjolras was thankful he had his new phone so he could keep Jehan from worrying without having to disturb his partner. Enjolras was surprised he didn’t use his phone more; at first, he had wanted to use it almost constantly, just because he could, but then he realized he didn’t really know what to say to anyone who wasn’t Grantaire. He remembered being constantly busy, always having someone he needed to contact, and the realization that he had nothing to offer now but updates on how much he and Grantaire were struggling made him profoundly sad, but he tried to tell himself once they moved out and had more normal lives, he would once again have things worth sharing.

But his laptop – that was infinitely more useful. He had been paralyzed at first by having a choice: should he start looking for possible apartments to show Grantaire, or should he buy things that would make them more comfortable once they moved? He had indulged in perusing apartment listings, but it was just too difficult to pick out any without a budget, and he wasn’t about to work that out without talking to Grantaire. He used to feel bouts of extreme guilt for all the money he had, but now he was grateful, and further appreciative that his friends had been such good custodians of it in his absence; even if they had a very comfortable lifestyle, they could live on his savings alone for quite some time, but he was also nervous to decide what a reasonable rent was based on ball-parked living expenses. 

Besides, he imagined Grantaire would need to invest in new art supplies and whatever else he required to establish his career again, and he had no idea how much that might cost; he wondered idly if he should go back to school. While his political science degree had been a perfectly reasonable stepping stone to law school, it wasn’t exactly practical by itself out in the real world. He supposed he could probably get a job working on someone’s campaign, but that would be long hours for low pay, and he didn’t want to lose so much time from Grantaire if he could help it – and that was all supposing he could get a chance to interview and explain why he hadn’t worked in the last several years. He also considered trying for a job at some sort of non-profit, one that would have standard hours, but he wasn’t sure if he could cope with fighting for a cause all day and then coming home at night to keep working on his issues and trying to help Grantaire with his.

Ordering things online was a much more pleasurable pastime, and every time he added something to his cart, he felt a little thrill. It had started with the lap desk, a simple plastic one with foam underneath, and then he had decided to invest in a heavy-duty one, more like a small table than a tray, for bed, or whatever their equivalent would be, so that he would be able to work without having to leave Grantaire or pressure him to get up. Then had come the weighted blankets, and then he decided he should get some new blankets, ones that hadn’t been sitting in storage for years, and after that he thought a matching set of fluffy towels would be nice. He forced himself to take a break when he started browsing through cotton onesies, when he realized his attempt to make Grantaire feel safe but not sweltering in the coming summer might come off as too controlling instead of thoughtful. 

He slowly shifted his laptop to the coffee table, smiling a little when he did it without waking Grantaire. Jehan stopped typing at the kitchen table, and Enjolras looked up at them. “Marius said he would like to come over to talk to you sometime today, if you don’t mind.” Enjolras frowned. “He said he tried texting you, and you didn’t respond.” 

“Oh, I – I forgot to check it.” Enjolras looked away. It hadn’t occurred to him that even though he didn’t have anything to say, his friends might. “Maybe before lunch?” Grantaire reliably woke up around the same time each day from hunger, and while the timing might be a little trickier, he usually was out like a light after eating, so Enjolras didn’t want to disturb that. He swallowed and focused very hard on not sounding agitated. “Is it – about the case?” They should have moved on to the financial portion of the trial, and he didn’t know what he or Grantaire could offer. 

Jehan shook their head. “No, not really. It’s nothing bad, I promise. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

Enjolras closed his own eyes while he waited, despite not being the least bit sleepy. He wanted to be able to think without Jehan talking to him. Maybe he could ask Marius for job ideas while he was here? It would be too embarrassing to ask Courfeyrac, and if asked to see Marius of his own accord, Marius would probably be far more nervous than he himself was at the moment. And he really should figure this out soon. 

Grantaire woke with a start some time later. His eyes were wide and confused for a moment, in a way that almost caused Enjolras physical pain, and then they were closed again as Grantaire surged against him. He petted his partner’s arm until he relaxed. Jehan tactfully took that moment to get up and start cooking at an unnecessarily loud volume. “Better?” Enjolras whispered. 

“Yeah, sorry.” Grantaire shuddered. “I just want them to stop.”

“They will. Once you get caught up on sleep.” Enjolras was once again tempted to ask what Grantaire’s nightmares were, the better to comfort him, but he once again resisted; he had decided not prying would be the right choice, but it was hard not even knowing if Grantaire’s dreams were based on reality or just the fiction of his own mind. He kissed his partner’s head instead of twisting himself in knots about that question again. “Marius is going to come over soon.” Grantaire’s eyes opened, but he said nothing. “I don’t know why.”

Fortunately, they were spared the uncertainty when there was a knock at the apartment door. Jehan opened it, and Enjolras could see Marius peering around the frame, before he slipped in. Grantaire shifted to a more upright position, and Enjolras moved his arm to his waist. “Hello, Marius,” he said, because he had decided this was a skill he should practice; it was probably really off-putting for other people when he just silently stared at them. 

Marius jumped, which could mean he was surprised Enjolras had taken the initiative to speak or just that he was Marius, but then he waved enthusiastically as he brought a chair over. He put the folder he was carrying down on the table. “So. I have some good news, and a – hmm, a suggestion. Which do you want to hear first?”

“Are they related?” Enjolras didn’t want to get excited about any “good news” if it would depend on him agreeing to an unknown suggestion. He had had enough of games he couldn’t win.

“No? I mean, I guess they sort of are since they both have to do with, um, with all – this, but they’re not really related to each other.” He tilted his head. “The good news isn’t going to go away.” 

Enjolras looked up from where he had been trying to see through the folder into its contents. Marius looked…empathetic. It almost made him uncomfortable – he wasn’t used to any of his friends really understanding how he was feeling. Perhaps they always had though, or as much as could be expected, because he could see how gentle and kind they were with Grantaire; maybe his own anger had blinded him to seeing he was receiving the same treatment. 

“What’s the good news then?” He really wanted to ask about this mysterious suggestion, but it wasn’t enough to just think about acting more normally. 

Marius brightened, then looked a little wary, then shook his head and brightened again. “Well. This started a long, long time ago, and we didn’t mention it then because you were, well, unwell. And then I guess we didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t work out and have that disappointment on top of everything else.”

“What is it, Marius?” Had Enjolras once been so convinced that Marius, of all people, was capable of doing either of them any harm? The worst thing Marius could do was ramble in his overenthusiasm. But Enjolras had believed it; Grantaire still believed it.

“Right. Sorry. So, you know how you were able to get new IDs for free?”

“Because it wasn’t our fault?” Grantaire squirmed a little next to him, and Enjolras flushed. He had just meant losing their IDs, but it was also true, too, wasn’t it, that nothing that happened was their faults?

“Yes, that’s right,” Marius replied, and then a few moments later spilled the papers from his folder all over the floor. He certainly took his time picking them up and properly collating them, and Enjolras used it to rub Grantaire’s hand with his thumb. Marius thumped the pages square on the table. “Anyways. As I was saying. There’s actually lots of other types of compensation crime victims are entitled to. Specifically, kidnapping victims are entitled to lost wages.” Enjolras knew he was probably doing his creepy stare right now, but it was just because this wasn’t making any sense. Grantaire sat up straighter next to him. 

“How much?” Enjolras asked, robotically. He hoped he didn’t have one of those shock episodes like at the arraignment. 

Marius shook his head. “There’s a limit, and it’s unfortunately far below what you would’ve earned, but Courf and I made a pretty compelling case of how much you would’ve made with us after graduation, and Feuilly wrote…something for Grantaire.” He winced slightly. “Sorry, Grantaire, I just don’t understand how art works as a career? But I’m glad it exists!”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire said quietly, without rebuke. “I wouldn’t have known what to say either.”

“Well, Feuilly did, so you both have been awarded the maximum amount.” Marius beamed at them.

“Marius, how much is that?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire moved slightly with what he thought was a suppressed laugh. 

“Oh, sorry, I forgot you don’t know. It’s $30,000, each.” 

“Holy shit,” Grantaire whispered.

This definitely did not compute. Marius was right, that was far less than Enjolras would’ve earned in one year as a lawyer, and it was surely a fraction of what Grantaire could’ve earned in four, but he also wasn’t about to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. This would give him plenty of time to figure out his whole work situation.

“What’s the suggestion?” Enjolras asked, almost expecting it to be something equally astounding, though he couldn’t imagine what could match this. 

“Oh, that.” Marius’s smile dimmed. “Now, Enjolras, I want you to remember Courf and I aren’t trying to pressure you or anything, and we totally respect you doing whatever you want, and we’re not upset you don’t want to go to law school or anything like that, but we both know that’s what you always wanted to do and that’s what your degree set you up for and everything.” Marius hunched his shoulders. Enjolras wondered if he had been worried Courfeyrac wouldn’t want to work with him, despite being so close. “So we were talking about, and Courf found this.” Marius pushed a pamphlet over to Enjolras.

It was for a paralegal certification course, specifically designed for students who already had an undergraduate degree and wanted to jump-start their legal career. It met every weekday for five months, but only four hours a day, with a break for lunch, and that was it. He looked at Grantaire, who had been reading over his shoulder, but his partner’s expression was neutral. “Do you think I could really a job with this? Competition is so fierce, and most other job-seekers probably didn’t take four years off.” He tried not to sound bitter as he rubbed the glossy paper with his fingers.

Marius looked at him strangely. “Courf and I would still want you to work with us, if that’s what you want, too.”

“You don’t have to give me a job out of pity,” Enjolras said, definitely bitter this time.

Marius’s face contorted even more. “It wouldn’t be pity, Enjolras. You would have a real certification, and we could certainly help more people if you joined us. Plus we try our best to work reasonable hours, so you could have more time to spend with Grantaire.” All three of them turned red.

“This seems – too easy.” Enjolras had a sudden windfall to pay tuition and to support himself while he went back to school and then had a guaranteed job lined up? And Grantaire would have all the time and resources he needed to build his own career?

“Enjolras, I think you both deserve for some things to be easy at this point.” Marius waved at the pamphlet. “Just think about it. You don’t have to do it, and you don’t have to decide now. We can just forget this ever happened if you’d prefer.” 

“No, I will think about it. Thank you, Marius.” He felt like the right thing to do would be to ask Marius to stay and eat with them, but it wouldn’t be right to impose on Jehan like that. It was time to move out so he and Grantaire could do things like that. 

After lunch, Enjolras settled down with Grantaire, and his laptop, in their nest. His partner took up his usual position, curled up against Enjolras’s leg with his face pressed into his hip, while Enjolras propped himself up against the wall. He had been surprised the first time Grantaire initiated this, but pleased he was feeling more comfortable. 

He had thought searching for apartments would be easier now that he had a clearer idea of what they could afford, but it was more overwhelming. His stomach hurt a little, as living with Grantaire, alone, in their own place, and starting a new life together was rapidly shifting from a nice fantasy to impending reality. They could leave as soon as they signed a lease. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely true – they would certainly need to get their things out of storage, and donate the leftovers after combining households. He felt around for his phone to text Combeferre, but he left it on silent; his friend’s reply wouldn’t be important enough to disrupt Grantaire’s sleep. 

He perused the listings, worried at first he wouldn’t be able to narrow the possibilities down to a good shortlist to present to Grantaire, but he was surprised how many he could rule out, and not always for the reasons he expected. It was easy enough to filter for studio apartments, and to skip over everything that didn’t have a loft. He realized he wasn’t exactly sure where everyone lived now, just that they were within walking distance of each other, so he picked a reasonable area. He was almost tempted to pick somewhere completely different, but then decided there was no point in being contrary for contrary’s sake. It wasn’t like their friends were going to try to control them, and it would be nice to get together with them easily. 

On a whim, he restricted his search to buildings with doormen; he felt secure enough in Jehan and Éponine’s apartment, but it would be much more comfortable if he knew there was someone monitoring who came in to the building, and who could come up to their apartment. Grantaire was an adult and could certainly stay home alone if he wanted to and take care of himself and have over whoever he wanted and come and go as he pleased, but Enjolras would breathe a little easier knowing there would be no surprise visitors. 

A few of the buildings that met all those criteria had to be removed from his list when Enjolras saw they offered roof space as an amenity. It didn’t matter that he would never have to go there, but it would be too unsettling to live in a place where it was a possibility. He thought about Jehan’s balcony, where they had helped him move the most successful of his flowers, now that it was warm enough; Enjolras didn’t want them to just die when they had served their purpose, and it would be harder to keep them alive without a balcony or roof space, but he was sure Jehan could find a way to make it work. And that would be far more pleasant than most of the other tasks they had had to do for him and Grantaire. 

He went to rub Grantaire’s forehead and found his partner awake. “What are you working on?” he mumbled sleepily. 

“I found some possible apartments to show you. Whenever you feel up to it.”

“Possibilities?” Grantaire squirmed into a more comfortable position. “You mean you didn’t just pick the one that’s obviously the best?”

“What? Of course not. We might not agree on which is the best.” Grantaire looked at him with a straight face before smiling just a little, and then Enjolras huffed when he realized it was supposed to be a gentle joke. “I’m sorry I probably would’ve done that before, Grantaire.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. Because there’s no way you would’ve agreed to live with me.” 

Enjolras frowned and moved his laptop to the side, before sliding down to be face-to-face with his partner. “Grantaire? What’s wrong? Am I doing this too fast? Am I doing this wrong?” He went to touch Grantaire’s curls, but Grantaire twisted his head away. Enjolras pulled his hand back, but when Grantaire sighed and shut his eyes, he tentatively replaced it on Grantaire’s shoulder. “No,” he whispered. “You’re not doing anything wrong. I just – I’ve spent so long thinking about this, and now it’s going to be real, and I’m trying to tell myself it’s fine, but after…everything they said at the trial, and my nightmares, it’s just really hard. I know I should be happy. I do want to be happy, I just can’t. Not always.”

“Grantaire, I understand. Well, maybe not completely. I know this is a much…newer desire for me, but it does feel strange to have this, to have what we actually want. You don’t have to pretend to be happy just because you think you should be. I just want to know what I can do to help.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Nothing, I don’t think. I want to do this. My mind will catch up eventually.” Enjolras watched him bite his cheek and then stop, and then go through that cycle a few more times. “I think I could sleep in a real bed once we move.”

“Are you sure? Grantaire, I really don’t mind sleeping like this. We don’t have to change our – arrangement just because we’re moving.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Enjolras, it won’t hurt my feeling if you admit you don’t actually like sleeping on the floor.” He bit his cheek again. “I – I think I’m ready, as long – I know it’s stupid, but if it was just the mattress, without the frame, I think I could do it.”

“Alright. It’s fine if you change your mind.” Enjolras looked over at the unused bed, still made up with his sheets. “I may have gone a little…overboard picking out things for our apartment, but would you want to get new sheets? I thought maybe we could get some flannel ones, so they’re nice and soft? I know it’s going to be summer soon, but people said they’re comfortable year-round.”

Grantaire laughed, quietly but genuinely. “Of course with everything going on, you’re researching what sheets to buy. Perfectly logical.” He smiled a little. “That does sound nice.” That smile shifted more towards a frown. “What do you think about what – being a paralegal?”

“Oh. I feel like I should think about it more, but it sounds like a good idea. I do want to do something that helps others, and it might be good to work with people who understand – what I’m like. And the program sounds like a good way to try to get back into a normal schedule.” He kissed Grantaire’s forehead just because he could. “I don’t mean to pressure you, but have you thought about what you’d like to do? I just want to make sure I’m supporting you, whatever it is.”

Grantaire frowned. “I might start again online, maybe get some commissions or something, and maybe I can drag out some of my senior pieces to see if I can exhibit them anywhere. I don’t know, I think I’d prefer to work anonymously, or under a different name, I guess, otherwise everyone and their mother is going to get super into the literal tortured artist thing, and I’d just…rather not deal with that. But I’m not going to lie – I’m not going to be making a paralegal salary any time soon.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind. I realize our chosen fields operate completely differently. I just want you to be happy. My salary is for us. Unless – are you going to feel, I don’t know, kept? That’s not my intention.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes again. “Enjolras, the most I’ll ask for help buying nicer paints or something. And yes, I’m probably going to feel weird about it at first, because I am not actually used to someone helping me pay for things. But trust me, if I wanted to be kept, I would milk it for all its worth.”

Enjolras laughed again. “Well, I’m happy to buy you nice things too, just because.” 

Grantaire blushed and then very softly kissed Enjolras on the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lost wages for kidnapping victims is a real thing in New York, but despite my best efforts (I'm talking multiple Google searches here) I could find nothing about how long applications for such funds take, so I just put it where I wanted! The paralegal program Marius recommends is also real, but I feel weird naming specific things in fics, so I just...didn't. 
> 
> Also flannel sheets are the most amazing things ever.


	61. Chapter Sixty-One

“Any nightmares last night?” Grantaire considered the question as he burrowed his face deeper into Enjolras’s shoulder. It had been scary starting to sleep like this more often, but moments like this made it worth it. Enjolras was warm and smelled nice, and it was addictive.

“No, I don’t think so. Well, maybe one, but I don’t really remember anything about it,” he added as he felt Enjolras turn his head and give him what had to be a skeptical look. It really was the truth. Once the trial had moved to the deliberation phase, and it had been explained to Grantaire that if the jury wanted to re-hear any testimony, it would be read to them from the court record, his nightmares had suddenly stopped. (Well, mostly stopped.) There really was nothing he could do now to change the outcome, and he would never have to talk about what happened in front of Master ever again. The average person would probably point to the successful completion of their escape, or perhaps Grantaire’s awakening at the hospital, as the end of their ordeal, but to him, this felt much more like the true end. The verdict was still pending, but his part was complete. He hadn’t philosophized with Enjolras about this, but since his night terrors had also stopped, they were probably in agreement.

“I’m glad,” Enjolras replied, and Grantaire could tell he was smiling now. He let himself be held awhile longer, until Enjolras grew completely still in a way that mean he was over-compensating for his desire to fidget. 

“I’m sure they’ll decide soon,” Grantaire assured him. Grantaire actually had no idea how much longer it would take for the jury to return a verdict. He had initially imagined it would be very quick, it was just a yes or no question after all, until he picked up from the general conversation that there were literally hundreds of these yes or no questions for the jury to work through, and that even if no clarification of the legal rules or evidence was required and everyone was automatically in complete agreement, the jurors could only finish so fast. They were several days deep at this point, and Grantaire liked to pretend the discussion was focused on the complexity of the financial crimes, because the thought of a roomful of strangers debating whether Enjolras had actually been hurt, let alone discussing in any way what had happened to him, left him cold and nauseous. 

Enjolras had less practice just…not thinking about things, so he had been coping by obsessing over their upcoming move. Grantaire wasn’t really convinced sorting through one room and a storage unit of belongings for a local move required as much preparation as a covert military operation, but if fiddling with spreadsheets (Grantaire didn’t even know what was in them, since they made his eyes glaze over instantaneously) kept him busy and away from silently brooding, Grantaire wasn’t about to complain. He had felt spectacularly lazy after a day of doing nothing while Enjolras did all that, whatever that was, and he had asked Feuilly for the list of what art supplies he had in storage, and a list of all his physical work that still existed. Feuilly must have anticipated that request because he sent them right away, and Grantaire had begun making hiw own list of things he needed to buy, trying to pick slightly more expensive options than he felt comfortable with to try to avoid another Enjolras Lecture about Having Nice Things. (The whole thing was rather silly because Enjolras had no idea what quality art supplies actually cost, and could probably have been convinced paints from the dollar store were top quality.)

Deciding what to do with his extant pieces was more difficult. He was surprised how many were noted as being, not in storage, but out on loan to someone else. In fact, Jehan and Éponine were outside the norm by only having the one painting, while every other living unit had multiple, and that didn’t even count the ones brought in to work. (He wondered how Dr. Joly got any actual doctoring done in his office, since it seemed like it could only hold everything listed if they were plastered on every available surface.) Everyone seemed to have gravitated to anything that featured the whole group, like the painting up in the living room, or their romantic grouping (and dear God, how many times had he apparently sketched Master Pontmercy with Mistress Fauchelevent, and why did Master Pontmercy need to keep all of them, and why was Grantaire even mildly afraid of him still?) (for fuck’s sake, one of them was, based on the title, just two generic stick people,) but some of his other pieces had been taken as well. Grantaire thought it might be best to avoid trying to exhibit or sell anything already attached to his name, or this whole anonymous ploy would fall apart, and after cross-referencing the set of photos Feuilly had sent as well with the titles that sounded like he had put some effort in to be serious about, he had a tentative list of what he could shop around. He wouldn’t be surprised, or even that sad, if none of it sold, but it might be enough to start establishing himself in the art world again while he worked on new stuff. He needed to ask Feuilly if he could suggest any galleries or coffee shops or even tiny museums that would be willing to have everything delivered by an intermediary or trustworthy enough not to expose Grantaire as a publicity stunt.

“I’m trying to be patient.” Enjolras sighed in a decidedly impatient manner, helping Grantaire sit up. “I just wish I knew how much longer it was going to be, exactly.” 

It seemed Enjolras had gotten his wish sooner rather than later, because when Grantaire returned from his shower, he was staring at his phone and pacing the room. Grantaire had originally thought he might go bare-headed that day, in an attempt to seem like less of a mess, (also because it was getting uncomfortably warm to keep it covered indoors) but now he fetched a beanie from the dresser in preparation. “Is it over?” he asked, putting a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder to stop him. 

“Yes,” Enjolras managed to choke out, though he looked more shell-shocked than angry or upset. 

“What happened?” Grantaire asked carefully, almost holding his breath as he waited to see if Enjolras would rage or weep, though he ultimately did neither – he just kept looking stunned. Grantaire maneuvered them both to sit down and put an arm behind Enjolras, in case he had an episode. 

“Courfeyrac and Marius are coming over with the entire verdict. They said most of the charges came back as guilty.” There was a delay before Enjolras’s brow furrowed and his mouth turned down, no doubt considering the implication that there were some not guilty’s in the mix. 

“Wouldn’t you want ten guilty people to go free than one innocent person be punished?” Grantaire asked, because he felt like that was what he was supposed to remind Enjolras of in this situation. 

Enjolras’s frown deepened, and he turned to look at Grantaire. He was definitely edging towards anger now, even if it was only visible in his eyes. “That’s all theoretical though. It’s different if I know what the right answer is.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter too much, does it? Didn’t they say the sentence will be based on the worst ones, which are basically guaranteed?” Grantaire did his very best to sound reasonable and not sarcastic, because he wasn’t actually trying to be that way. Yes, he had been raped hundreds of times, and there was a charge for each one he could remember, but he could hardly blame the jury for not feeling like there was enough evidence for every single one. And if Master was already going away for decades for kidnapping, he didn’t see the point in quibbling. 

Enjolras blinked slowly and then shook his head. “No, I suppose it doesn’t,” he (holy shit) agreed, but then his gaze drifted to the middle of the room as he looked at nothing at all. Grantaire wondered if he should call for Dr. Combeferre, but being deep in thought wasn’t an actual medical condition, even if Enjolras was capable of doing it to a pathological extent. 

And it was surreal, when Grantaire found himself seated side-by-side with Enjolras on the couch, not really certain when or how they had moved there, as Master Pontmercy and Master de Courfeyrac presented them with a thick packet of paper and waited for them to read it, even though Master Pontmercy looked very jealous of the way Jehan was pretending to do things in the kitchen. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to look, especially since Enjolras was looking intently enough for the both of them, but he was overcome with a morbid curiosity. There were a lot of guilty verdicts, though he only saw them in passing as Enjolras flipped through quickly, stopping and nodding in certain places, and stopping to give Grantaire brief kisses to the temple in others, like when he found Master was going to be held responsible for driving Grantaire to attempt suicide. 

“Do you have any questions?” Master de Courfeyrac asked, when Enjolras had finished. Master Pontmercy braced himself in the neighboring chair. 

“When is he going to be sentenced?” Enjolras asked, thumbing back through pages and not looking up. 

“The date won’t be set until tomorrow, probably,” Master de Courfeyrac replied, “but it shouldn’t be more than two or three weeks from now.”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras questioned, laying his palms flat on the paper and controlling his voice like he did when he was trying not to snap. Grantaire could only guess Enjolras wanted this to be over, completely, and was unhappy having to wait, once again, on other people.

Master de Courfeyrac blinked and looked at Master Pontmercy. “It can theoretically take much longer, but that’s generally for cases where the prosecution needs more time to organize their argument for what the exact sentence should be, and I can’t see that happening for yours. I wouldn’t be shocked if Montparnasse’s lawyer tried to delay it just for one last power play, but there’s no way to justify an extensive delay.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras looked up and managed a quick smile, before he looked down at his hands again. “I think – the prosecutors said we could make a statement at the sentencing?” 

“Yes, that’s right. If you want, you can read it in court, or they can do it for you. Or you don’t have to write one at all, if you’d prefer. Do you want us to schedule a meeting with them?” 

“No, I do want to write something.” Enjolras’s hands came together and then separated quickly. “Would tomorrow work?” He glanced at Grantaire as he asked this, almost shy, which was odd, because Enjolras was not exactly shy when it came to writing and giving speeches. 

“I don’t think that will be a problem. You don’t have to have finished it or anything by then. You have until the sentencing.”

“No, I’ll know what I want to say by then,” Enjolras said, still looking shy and blushing faintly. 

“There is one other question,” Master Pontmercy said, and Enjolras turned away from Grantaire, expression once again neutral. Master Pontmercy’s expression went from mildly concerned to mildly terrified. “You don’t have to decide right away either, but there is the question of whether you want to pursue a civil suit.” 

Grantaire could think of nothing that sounded less fun than going through this trial, all over again, but Enjolras was considering the question, so he said nothing. (If he had done it once, he could do it again – right? Never mind that the first go-round had pushed him to the mental and emotional limit.) “What would our chances be of actually collecting any money, assuming we did receive a settlement?” 

Master Pontmercy shook his head rapidly. “Bossuet probably understands the mechanics of what happened to the money the best, but the way he’s explained it, it’s all been moved where no one else will ever be able to touch it. The fact that Montparnasse can’t have it either seems to be beside the point.”

“It’s one final middle finger,” Master de Courfeyrac clarified. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t give it a try, even if all it gives you is peace of mind.”

Enjolras looked back to Grantaire, and he almost wished the shy look would come back because this intense one was even more unbearable, but Enjolras did not stop. He took Grantaire’s hand and rubbed the back with his thumb, and Grantaire knew he was not going to stop until he gave an answer. He knew he should nod, but he just couldn’t do it. If he woke up tomorrow and found out the civil suit had already started, he would do whatever Enjolras needed without a second thought, but he couldn’t quite sign himself up for that kind of punishment on his own, when every outcome would have the same ultimate result. Was he growing weak and complacent and comfortable? (Or did he just hate himself a little less than he thought?) “Grantaire?” Enjolras prompted quietly, though it sounded overly loud with Master de Courfeyrac and Master Pontmercy right there, and watching, and judging, and all Grantaire could really think about was the feel of Enjolras’s hand on his and how they were going to move into their own apartment and have a normal life and how another trial might break him and ruin his fantasies and what would his past self say if Grantaire threw all that away and – he shook his head, just a little. 

“I appreciate the suggestion, Marius,” Enjolras said, giving Grantaire’s hand a squeeze, “but I don’t think going through all that just for a win on paper is worth it.” Master de Courfeyrac’s jaw dropped a little, and Grantaire probably would’ve mimicked him if he hadn’t spent the last several years learning to control his expression so well. Master Pontmercy nudged Master de Courfeyrac with his elbow, but he only got his mouth halfway closed. 

“That’s fine, Enjolras,” Master Pontmercy assured him, showing a flash of the poise he must be able to conjure up when he was in court. “Your decision is certainly practical.” He stood and rounded up a still-stunned Master de Courfeyrac to leave. Jehan had food waiting for Grantaire and Enjolras on the table, and they sat with the two of them while they ate. Grantaire could hardly taste the food, and it was strange to have it be for a reason besides being soul-crushingly sad. Enjolras was eating normally, but he kept tapping his fork against the plate while he chewed. Was he just nervous about writing a speech? It was true he was out of practice, but all that meant was whatever he wrote might be Above Average Quality, instead of Enjolras Quality, and this wasn’t exactly a massive call-to-action or anything. Above average would probably be just fine. Grantaire started to think about the galleries he wanted to research, since it seemed like he would need to find a way to occupy himself today, while Enjolras wrote. How strange their lives were, while supposedly being back to normal.

“Jehan?” Enjolras asked, when he was mostly finished. 

“What is it, Enjolras?” they asked gently. They were probably anticipating a meltdown, what with the big news and the fidgeting and the Enjolras and Grantaire being bad at functioning like normal people. 

“I was thinking – we’ll be moving out soon, but I thought maybe it would be good to – practice.” Enjolras valiantly tried to smile normally, and valiantly failed. “It’s been a long time since we’ve actually been alone.”

Jehan looked between them uncertainly. “Are you sure, Enjolras? I know there a lot already happened today. There’s no need to force yourself. Éponine and I aren’t going to throw you out the second your lease starts. You’re welcome to stay longer if you want. I know this is a lot at once.”

Enjolras smiled a little more calmly, but he kept tapping his fork. “No, I’m not forcing myself. I just thought it would be…good.” Grantaire had no idea what Enjolras was doing, so he stayed quiet and averted his gaze when Jehan tried to look at him. 

That didn’t stop them from asking, “R, will you be alright?” Enjolras did look a little abashed at the question, no doubt because he had yet to explain his thoughts to Grantaire, but he also gave no indication of wanting to change his mind, which meant it couldn’t actually be anything bad.

“I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t completely sure, because as Enjolras himself had pointed out, the two of them had never really been alone. Leaving the hospital and getting a private room to hide out in was a big improvement, but it still wasn’t the same. Of course he would get nervous about being alone-alone with Enjolras, when Enjolras had seen him naked and abused for years. It made perfect sense, really.

Jehan smiled. “Alright, that’s fine. Why don’t I go work at the coffee shop down the block for a few hours?” They stood and started to gather their things. “You can call or text me if you want me to come back early, or just if you need anything. And don’t be afraid to call 9-1-1 if there’s an emergency.” They reminded them two more times before they left that they could call them for any reason and then they were gone. Grantaire felt his heart start to race when Enjolras took both his hands and squeezed. He now managed to look both intense and shy.

“Grantaire, would you mind waiting for me in our room? It’s nothing bad, I promise. I just need a minute to get – some stuff.”

Grantaire rose and waggled his eyebrows to cover up the fact he wanted to throw up. “What stuff might that be?” He wanted to sound seductive, or at least sardonic, but he just sounded scared. What secret “stuff” did Enjolras have and why did he need time to secretly get it?

Enjolras pressed their hands. “No, Grantaire, it’s nothing like that, I promise. I would never try to get you alone by surprise just to sleep with you. Maybe this is too much, I just thought-”

“Enjolras, I was only teasing. I can go wait without having a breakdown.” Enjolras still looked troubled, until Grantaire stooped enough to kiss him. He perked right back up and smiled. That really mean this couldn’t be anything too terrible, right?

Unsure what he should do or where he should be, Grantaire left the door open, not knowing what the fuck Enjolras was going to bring in, and sat in their nest, pulling one of the blankets Enjolras slept under around him and breathing in the scent. It made him feel warm and safe and good. He heard the balcony door open, which didn’t scare him as much as it would’ve before, since Enjolras now went out every few days to work on his secret project. There was a heavy thump and Enjolras grumbling, followed by another thump and the door finally being dragged shut. Enjolras appeared at the bedroom door for a moment, hands splattered with dirt, and then left again. Maybe he had been playing the long con and had gotten rid of Jehan in an attempt to launch a coup on their plant empire. It made as much sense as anything else. 

It certainly made more sense than Enjolras huffing and puffing as he carried in a giant clay pot, containing a giant flower, nestled in a repurposed planting tray. He tried his best to set it down gently in front of Grantaire, though it was more like a controlled drop, and he stood panting a little for breath. The flower was a soft green, with the petals unfolding the further they got from the center. It was also almost as tall as Enjolras and was tied to a stake only a little shorter. It was interesting to finally see what Enjolras had been obsessively growing, but that didn’t mean the bedroom was the best place for it. “Enjolras, while I’m glad you have a new hobby, this seems like maybe more of, you know, an outside thing.” 

Enjolras tried dusting his hands off over the pot, but it mostly smeared damp earth around his palms. He kept wiping and wiping, and when he finally stopped, his face had gone crimson. “It probably should go back outside – after,” he admitted. He fumbled with his hands again and looked like he couldn’t decide if he should sit down or remain standing. He couldn’t seem to decide what he wanted to say either, opening and closing his mouth without actually saying any words.

“What is it?” Grantaire asked, unsure about having to be the one to guide the conversation, especially when he had no fucking idea where it might be headed.

“Oh.” Enjolras turned to actually look at his flower. He was still bright red. “It’s a green dahlia. I mean, obviously it’s green. I hope you don’t mind I asked Jehan for help. I didn’t really know – I mean, I could’ve looked online, but I’ve never grown anything before, and I wanted to make sure it made sense and could also actually grow.”

“Enjolras, I don’t mind you asked them.” Enjolras smiled a little but started to wring his hands and didn’t elaborate further. “Why did you pick a green dahlia to grow?”

“I wanted – I thought-” Enjolras stopped and briefly covered his face with hands, leaving streaks of dirt behind, which he managed to make look cute instead of grungy. “Grantaire, I realize this is definitely not the standard way of doing this, but I didn’t want to just-” He stopped again and raked lines of dirt through his hair. At least he hadn’t showered yet today. “So green dahlias symbolize a fresh start.” He paused.

“That seems very applicable,” Grantaire agreed. He also agreed this was outside the norm, but maybe Enjolras didn’t realize you didn’t need to get someone a housewarming gift if you were also going to live with them.

“Well. And the dahlia in general symbolizes a commitment. To another person.” Grantaire could heard Enjolras but it also sounded like he was very far away. (And underwater.) (And on the other side of a tunnel.) 

He thought maybe he was in the middle of an extremely realistic dream, until Enjolras made up his mind to sit next to him, neither of them caring about the dirt as they simultaneously moved to hold hands. 

“R, will you marry me?”

Grantaire raised his free hand to press the bridge of his nose to keep from crying and, as a few stray tears trickled out, he slowly nodded. 

Enjolras rubbed his back quietly until Grantaire was able to pull himself back together. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice shaky. “It’s just – a lot.”

“I’m sorry if it was too much. I just thought now would be a good time.”

“No, this was fine. I just never imagined – never even let myself imagine – maybe being together if I got really fucking lucky, but not being officially together-”

“I sort of guessed,” Enjolras said and kissed his temple. “I am sorry though, if this wasn’t your ideal proposal, but I didn’t think it was right to just choose rings for both of us, or that I would do a good job of it. And I didn’t know how else to be alone before we move.”

“No. As corny as it sounds, this was perfect.” He turned back to the flower. Just like the blanket, it made him feel warm and good that Enjolras had been all that time and effort into growing a (massive) flower just to propose to him. (And it probably was a good idea Enjolras had not chosen rings.) “Does Jehan know?”

“I don’t think so?” Enjolras tilted his head and the shook it. “It can be hard to tell with them sometimes. Anyone else, I would say they would have had to have guessed, but I’m torn between saying Jehan is so romantic at heart they must have put the pieces together, or want to believe this could happen, and that they’re so terribly accepting of my…unique behavior that they might not have read anything into it at all, other than I don’t always cope very well.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“No. Well, Éponine made it quite clear she guessed my intention, but that’s it.” He smiled softly at Grantaire. “I was hoping you’d say yes, but I wanted it to be private until we could talk about it. I know you’re still – uneasy with most of our friends, and I had no idea how you’d want to tell them, or when you’d want to get married, or even what sort of wedding you’d like. Sorry, I don’t mean to pile all of this on you right away. I’ve just been thinking about already a lot. Probably too much. That was presumptuous of me, I know.”

“It wasn’t presumptuous,” Grantaire said as he closed his eyes and tried to think back to before. He had always thought it would be nice to get married one day, not that he really believed he’d ever find someone interested in being the other party required for such a union, and once he had met Enjolras, there was no room for imagining being with anyone else, and while he had an extensive (some might say very extensive) catalogue of Enjolras fantasies, getting married was so far-fetched, it had never earned a spot. He did feel like if this was before, he would have liked everyone else to be there, but now the idea of everyone watching made him uneasy. (His ideal wedding didn’t involve having a line out of the door of people wanting to object.) “What were you thinking?” he asked instead of voicing his own thoughts.

“I don’t know. I know it would’ve been a little different for you, but I couldn’t actually imagine getting married until I was already an adult. And by then I had realized the chance of finding someone I loved and was sexually attracted to, or who didn’t mind a lack of sexual attraction, to be my partner was very small.”

Grantaire nudged him. “I didn’t realize my cynicism had rubbed off on you so quickly.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “It’s called realism, not cynicism. I said the chance was small, not impossible. I guess if I pictured anything, it was just going to the courthouse, and maybe having a dinner afterwards.” He laughed. “I think Courfeyrac would disown me if I got married without some sort of celebration. I would imagine he wants to live in a paradox his wedding to Combeferre and my wedding are both somehow bigger than the other.” 

“I think I like that, the idea of a dinner, I mean. Maybe – I know this is so hypocritical considering how much I piss and moan about money, but a photographer would be nice.” Grantaire blushed. It was hard to believe he was having a calm discussion about wedding photos with Enjolras, who was holding him. Who was going to marry him. Who had been the one to propose marrying him. (Holy fuck.)

“That would be nice. What about – maybe we could get an officiant and have it outside? I want it to be special for you. For us.”

“Enjolras, getting to marry you at all is special enough. But outside does sound nice. I think we’ve earned a little good luck, when it comes to the weather.” He shifted a little. He felt like his mind was going into overdrive considering this as a real thing that needed to be planned for. It was…nice. Maybe this was how Enjolras felt while planning their move. “We’re going to need a witness, right? And don’t we need to get a license?”

“Would you like to ask Éponine? She effectively knows, and I know you feel comfortable with her. And the license will be valid for 30 days once we get it.”

“Ah, is that why you were being so persnickety about when the sentencing would be scheduled. You want to get married before then?”

Enjolras had returned to his normal pale self but blushed a little again. “I was not being persnickety, I just thought it would be nice symbolically. And I was hoping to tailor what I wrote for our statement around your answer. Though I suppose in the spirit of full disclosure my thoughts were based on the assumption you would agree.” 

“Wait, let me guess – your ideal wedding would take place on sentencing day.” (That probably wasn’t entirely true. If those two things could also line up with some sort of holiday celebrating significant progress in some area of social justice, that would be the most ideal.)

“Well, yes – but it doesn’t have to be quite so on the nose if you don’t like that.” It was on the nose, but Grantaire did like it. After all the fear and self-loathing, after being constantly told for years he wasn’t good enough to be anywhere near Enjolras, it would be nice to send Master to prison and bind himself to Enjolras permanently at the same time.

“Would you still like to celebrate with everyone?” As frightening as it would to have non-Éponine people at the actual ceremony, he could probably handle a meal once the deed was done. Enjolras could maybe be convinced to get the marriage annulled, but that would be a lot of work, and if Enjolras was going to put in all that effort just to propose, was he really going to have his mind changed after the fact? 

“We don’t have to,” Enjolras said, which meant he wanted to. 

“Why don’t we? I assume everyone will want to go to the sentencing. We could get married then, and then invite everyone to celebrate afterwards. I doubt anyone will question why we don’t want to go, and then we could still surprise them.”

Enjolras beamed. “That sounds perfect. Are you alright being in charge of all of this? This isn’t exactly the type of event I’m used to planning.” 

“Alright. But it’s only fair to warn you this isn’t going to magically fix my depression. I promise you I am deliriously happy, even if it gets buried under all my other shit. But it still might be really hard for me some days. I’ll make sure everything is done in time, I just want to warn you.”

“Grantaire, I’m not expecting anything of you. It’s hard for me to un-learn…all that bullshit, and I know you had it far worse than me. If you’re still struggling, I understand. I’m not marrying you because I think it will be perfect or suddenly fix all our problems. I’m marrying you because I love you, and I want to work on all those problems together. And you have to promise to stop me if I get too…overzealous about any of this.”

“I’ll try my best, but I’m not about to complain about the fact you’re actually excited to marry me.”

“Of course I’m excited.” The intense and gentle gaze was back. “I love you, R.”

Grantaire leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have played a little fast and loose with the dahlia timeline, but let's just all agree Jehan can keep the flowers blooming on time. (And in whatever color you desire.)


	62. Chapter Sixty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out when you try to put a lot of stuff in one chapter, it gets...really long. Who knew!

Grantaire couldn’t help but giggle as he and Enjolras walked hand-in-hand down the street. It was still a novel sensation, to be out in public together, unchaperoned, behaving like their lives were perfectly normal. Except it wasn’t quite normal, because picking up a marriage license was hardly a normal activity. Grantaire had been on edge the whole time, because no one actually knew they weren’t in the apartment (Éponine at work and Jehan shooed away to their regular coffee shop so Enjolras could “focus on writing their impact statement”) and it didn’t feel right to be roaming around in the regular world and there was the lingering fear that Enjolras might call the whole thing off (which was silly, because having a marriage license wasn’t the same as being married and even then there was this thing called a divorce, and Grantaire knew Enjolras wouldn’t fuck with him like that on purpose, but he was allowed to have second thoughts) and his recent experiences with courthouses were far from pleasant. 

But now it was done, and the only thing Grantaire really had to worry about was how they were going to hide their happiness for the rest of the day, since all the emotions they were well-practiced at hiding were distinctly unpleasant. He couldn’t stop smiling, especially not when Enjolras squeezed his hand or turned to kiss him while they waited at intersections, in broad daylight and right in front of all those people, people that had eyes and could see Enjolras initiating kisses with Grantaire, of all possible partners, and it felt…good. 

They were getting married in a week, and it felt really fucking good. 

It had felt like just a fantasy the last few weeks, because it was hard to reconcile planning a wedding with Enjolras to the reality of actually marrying him. (Not that “with” was really the right word to describe it, because Enjolras had been correct that wedding planning was not his strong suit. When Grantaire had shyly asked if he wanted to order a small cake, nothing fancy, to have delivered to the restaurant, Enjolras had been confused as to how Grantaire had found the one nice restaurant in the city without a dessert menu.) (But upon further explanation, he had agreed to the cake.) Now everything was booked, and the only thing left to do was rope Éponine into coming along to be their witness, but their officiant had assured him (over email, of course) that their photographer could always do it, so even that based was technically covered. He knew he needed to do it very much sooner rather than later, since they were moving out tomorrow, and he believed Enjolras when he said Éponine already knew and he believed Éponine whenever she said things in support of their relationship, but there was still that lingering unsettling feeling that anyone, everyone, would see he was unworthy of Enjolras and do…something about it.

He patted his zippered coat pocket yet again to make sure their rings were still there, which of course they were. He had picked out a set of silver bands online (no stones because Enjolras would have lectured him about the diamond industry and no design because he, correctly, assumed Enjolras would prefer something simple) and temporarily borrowed a piece of yarn and measuring tape from Jehan’s knitting baskets (yes, their knitting could not be confined to one basket, which made the silent midnight search slightly more nerve-racking) to determine their sizes. It cost to him what felt like a ridiculous amount to rush their order, because it wasn’t like they had to have them for the ceremony to make it count or anything, but trying them on in the jewelry boutique together (he had also skipped looking at all the chain stores, because that would’ve been its own separate lecture) had almost been an out-of-body experience.

Yes, the clerks at the courthouse had been cheerful, especially for government employees, and the one who actually handled the transaction and saw their names was even more so, though she gave no explicit sign of recognizing them, but the salesperson at the jewelry store was bright and bubbly and peppy and perky and had wanted to know all the details as she rung them out (and tried to upsell them), acting like it was perfectly normal when Grantaire asked for the rings to just be wrapped in cloth and put into a small, unmarked bag. He knew it was her job to act like that, and that he could’ve invented the most outlandish wedding to describe and have gotten the same reaction, but it still made him happy and pleased to have a total stranger fawn over them and flatter them and just generally be excited for them. She didn’t even begin to suggest Enjolras shouldn’t marry someone like Grantaire. Cognitive dissonance had its benefits sometimes. (And it didn’t hurt that while Enjolras had said little, since this was Grantaire’s project, he hadn’t been able to stop smiling the whole time, and looked loving and happy and like he was actually quite excited to marry Grantaire.)

They descended to the subway, which Grantaire suspected they were taking because Enjolras wanted to prove to himself he could, though the explanation Enjolras had provided was he didn’t want to have this turn into a romcom scenario where the same taxi as they would’ve taken today was hailed tomorrow when they went for a final meeting with the prosecution, and be asked how their wedding errands went in front of others. (Not that Enjolras had described it as such, using such melodramatic words as “disaster” and “horrible” instead.) When they sat down on the train, Enjolras carefully laid the envelope with the license on his lap, smoothing it out even though it wasn’t wrinkled at all, and Grantaire checked his pocket again, just to be sure. As they pulled out of the station, Enjolras kissed his temple, and no one around them paid any attention.

He stared intently out the window at the dark tunnel flying by and focused on keeping his hands still and not crying. He shouldn’t be surprised that he felt weepy so often, and with such suddenness, especially when there was so much going on, on top of his regularly scheduled depression, but it was still embarrassing. Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand, but immediately wrapped an arm around him. Grantaire let himself lean his head against his shoulder. “Everything alright, R?” It wasn’t fair that Enjolras called him that now, because it made it impossible to ignore him or obfuscate the truth. 

“It’s just – a lot,” he said, which wasn’t exactly an illuminating answer, but surely it was an improvement over claiming he was fine? He was going to count it.

Enjolras fussed with his beanie, which also qualified as Unfair Behavior. “I was thinking,” he began, before swallowing and playing with Grantaire’s curls for a minute, “I’m trying not to…take over planning from you, but you hadn’t mentioned any sort of honeymoon. Maybe it’s silly, and it probably doesn’t qualify or anything, but I thought if you’d like we could spend the week after together, just the two of us. I don’t know if you’d have places you’d want to go during the day, or we could just stay in our apartment the whole time, if you’d prefer that.” Enjolras was blushing, but frowning a little. “I know that I hardly know what I’m doing, but I want this to be special for you. You deserve it – and not because of – everything you did for me, but just…because.”

Now Grantaire was blushing. “You know, Enjolras, etiquette is to ask someone on a date before you ask them to marry you.” Enjolras’s frown deepened, and before he could work himself up, Grantaire added, “But don’t worry, I won’t dock any points for being unconventional,” which made Enjolras soften again. Grantaire thought about the question – how nice would it be to lock himself in with Enjolras for a week and have him all to himself? It sounded greedy and clingy and he didn’t want to get addicted to it. But being able to make Enjolras happy every day by taking him somewhere fun or interesting and getting to be cute and couple-y with him in public and then go home and lock themselves in together, just for the evening, sounded nice, and slightly less dysfunctional. A few weeks ago he would’ve said he didn’t know what to suggest, but as he planned the wedding, he found plenty of knowledge about the city right there in his mind, free from wherever he had hidden it. It was a big city – surely he could come up with a week’s worth of mutually enjoyable activities. 

“I’ll think about it,” he agreed, and was rewarded with a smile. Then he squirmed a little. As nice as curling up together at night sounded, just like they did now but in the privacy of their own apartment, he wondered if Enjolras would have different expectations once they were married, at least for their wedding night. He didn’t really think that would be the case, and he didn’t think Enjolras would just spring sex on him without warning, not when he was so very careful about boundaries and consent and never even talking about it without warning, but Grantaire also didn’t want to spend the whole day worrying over it, how he might panic or just feel really awful and not be able to please Enjolras the way he wanted. “Um,” he began eloquently, and fidgeted when Enjolras re-directed his full attention to him, “what about, you know, at…night?”

He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he would be fine if Enjolras suddenly wanted to go at it like rabbits. “What do you mean, at night?” Enjolras asked, because of course he did. Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to clarify, but Enjolras actually managed to figure it out on his own fairly quickly. “Oh, R.” He squeezed him. “I’m not…expecting anything different of you. I’ve told you, I’m perfectly happy with how things are. I want to marry you because I want to have this forever, not because I want anything to change.” He looked around in case anyone was listening. “I’ve told you, we don’t ever have to have sex again if you don’t want to. It doesn’t make our relationship any less real.”

Grantaire burrowed more closely against Enjolras’s side. “Are you going to give me a lecture now about how consummating a marriage is a silly social construct?”

Enjolras huffed and then laughed a little. “I can, if you’d like.”

“Well, the current exchange rate is five snuggles for every potential lecture.”

“And how exactly does one measure snuggles?” Enjolras asked, even as he obliged by holding Grantaire tighter. 

Grantaire felt relaxed and rather sleepy, lulled by Enjolras’s warmth and the movement of the train, by the time they reached their stop. They were almost all packed already, but maybe he could doze the afternoon away while Enjolras fussed over the final arrangements. He grew more alert as they emerged outside and walked together back to the apartment, though a nap still sounded nice. That thought was disrupted by a familiar voice yelling, “What the fuck?”

“Éponine?” Enjolras asked, slowly turning them around to face her as she jogged up the block towards them. He very subtly jammed his envelope down the front of his jacket, creating a very subtle rectangular blob under his borrowed sweater.

“Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened?” she elaborated, slightly out-of-breath when she reached them.

“Nothing happened,” Enjolras said quickly, as if he and Grantaire regularly went out for walks unaccompanied without bothering to tell anyone. 

Éponine stared back, expressionless, before drooping and letting out a heavy sigh. “Listen, a literal pro tip about sneaking out – it’s best to be back before anyone misses you.” Enjolras went a little pale. She stalked away but turned back before unlocking the building door. “Listen, I’m not mad at you, and Jehan’s not mad, and they’re not trying to make any of what you went through about them or anything, but I think they, I think all of us, got really comfortable with the fact that since you’ve…come back, we’ve always known where you were. Or at least what building you were in.” Enjolras looked down. “Jehan wants to acknowledge you’re adults who can go where you want without having to ask permission, and they’ve been trying to mentally prepare for you moving out, but I think coming home to find you gone when they expected you there just dredged up a lot of unpleasant memories.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said very quietly. “I am sorry. I didn’t even think-”

Éponine eyed Enjolras’s distended sweater and the way Grantaire had unconsciously started patting his pocket again. She softened a little. “It’s fine to have your secrets,” she said in a way that indicated they weren’t so secret after all, “this is just hard for all of us.” They slowly climbed the stairs behind her, and Grantaire felt his earlier happiness evaporate. He could only imagine how long Master would’ve separated the two of them if they had snuck off to be together for hours, but it was somehow worse to know nothing was going to happen except that Jehan was going to stay upset for some undetermined period of time. Grantaire knew exactly what it felt like to expect Enjolras to be somewhere, only to find he wasn’t, and to have no idea when he would be returned to him. It wasn’t hyperbole to call it agony, because it had been, mentally and physically, and he felt awful that Jehan, who was ever so patient and gentle and understanding and kind as he and Enjolras flailed about trying to be normal people again, felt that way. 

When Éponine unlocked the apartment, they found Jehan knitting on the sofa like the very fate of the world depended on it. “Look who I found,” Éponine said with forced cheerfulness, as they looked up and then tossed their project aside. 

“Oh, Enjolras, R,” they said, sounding on the verge of tears. (Grantaire knew exactly how that felt, too.) They pressed their hands together. Grantaire wondered if they wanted to come hug them but felt it would be better not to. “How was your outing?”

“Jehan, I tried to explain-” started Éponine, but Enjolras cut her off as he sheepishly put the spare keys he had swiped on the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry, Jehan. I know it’s not an excuse, I just got so hyper-focused on – other things that it didn’t even occur to me how you might feel if we weren’t here when you came home.”

“No, no,” Jehan waved their hands and then briefly wiped their eyes. “It’s unfair of me to be upset with you about something I never told you would upset me. We should’ve talked about what to do if you wanted to leave and go somewhere alone. There’s nothing wrong with that. I just assumed-”

“You know what they say about that,” Éponine muttered under her breath.

“I just assumed you wouldn’t want to, or that you would tell me if you did, which was silly. You’re here as my friends, not my wards.” They sighed and stared out the window for a minute. Grantaire wondered what the chances were of the floor swallowing him up. “At the risk of sounding selfish, it was hard for all of us when you were – gone. First, we hoped it was some sort of bizarre misunderstanding, and you’d be back any day, or the police would find you, or there had been an accident and some hospital would call, and we looked everywhere we could think of, but then it was so long, and since none of us wanted to believe that you were – we didn’t want to believe the worst, that left us to imagine what you were going through.” They did stopped to brush away a few more tears, and Éponine fetched them a few tissues. “I realize that is incredibly trivial compared to actually surviving it, and I thought I had made peace with the fact that you’re moving out and that I have to accept, that we all have to accept, that we won’t constantly know where you are, but the abruptness of it – it just reminded me….” 

Grantaire looked down. Jehan was right, living with Master had been worse than not knowing, but that didn’t mean not knowing wasn’t a horrible fate. Not knowing what happened to Enjolras when he was taken away from him, and not knowing what care he might need afterwards had been horrible, and that punishment was enough to sometimes drive Enjolras half out of his mind, not knowing what happened to Grantaire during that same period, and never being allowed to find out. How much worse would it have been if just Enjolras had been kidnapped, and he had had to live with that uncertainty for years? It wouldn’t have killed him, because there was no way he would’ve let himself die not knowing, but it would’ve been a close thing. 

“I am sorry, Jehan,” Enjolras repeated. “Why didn’t you call? Or track our phones?”

“I didn’t want to disrupt whatever you were doing,” Jehan said and attempted to smile. “It wasn’t that you were out by yourselves, or that you wanted privacy, that bothered me. And I don’t want to get into the habit of assuming that something horrible has happened every time we can’t immediately account for your whereabouts. It was just a bit of a shock.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” Enjolras asked quietly. Grantaire didn’t like Enjolras’s use of “I,” because he was just as complicit. He too had gotten so focused on making the final, secret preparations for their wedding that he hadn’t even considered Jehan’s feelings. It was weird, to consider how someone who was not Enjolras might feel because of his actions, outside of a context of getting in trouble and being punished. After all, it wasn’t like either of them ever made Master genuinely sad. 

Jehan shook their head. “No, Enjolras, it was all just a misunderstanding. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything to placate me because I’m upset.”

“Let’s just say this sucks for everyone and all forgive each other even though no one was in the wrong,” Éponine said, pushing away from the counter she had been leaning on. “And if we all promise not to tell Joly, I will order us an absurd amount of Chinese food for dinner.” 

They all laughed a little, and the tension broke, and by the time they had finished eating, Enjolras no longer looked totally consumed by guilt, and Jehan looked fairly cheerful, even if it was a little forced, and Grantaire started to feel his nervous anticipation all of the upcoming changes return. It was made both better and worse when he and Enjolras curled up together, and he imagined how they would be doing this tomorrow night, in their very own apartment. He lay still and pretended to sleep, though he did no more than drift in a half-sleep. He knew tomorrow was going to be difficult enough, and he didn’t need to add sleep deprivation to the mix, but he was well-practiced at running on little rest.

Some hours later, when it was dark and the apartment was quiet, Enjolras shifted next to him and very carefully got up, tucking the blankets back in with enough care Grantaire knew he must be doing more than just going to the bathroom. He tried to tell himself he would wait, that if Enjolras wanted to go off somewhere by himself, that was fine, but that only brought all his insecurities to the surface, so he wrapped himself in a blanket and crept out of the room. Enjolras hadn’t turned any of the lights on, but there weren’t exactly many places to hide, so it wasn’t hard to find him, rifling through the pantry as quietly as he could. Grantaire waited until Enjolras had set the food in his hands on the table before touching his arm, which was a good idea, because Enjolras reacted by leaping into the air, though he made no sense. Grantaire cocked in his head in a silent question, but Enjolras just shook his head and finished liberating supplies from the pantry. Grantaire helped carry it back and followed Enjolras’s lead, putting it in an empty bin that had been kept off to the side during packing. (Though it wasn’t entirely empty now, the precious envelope sitting at the bottom, next to Grantaire’s folded jacket.)

Grantaire summoned the courage to lay face-to-face with Enjolras when they went back to their nest, but waited for Enjolras to speak. “I know it’s irrational,” he finally whispered, defeated. 

“It’s not,” Grantaire disagreed, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. But he didn’t want Enjolras to feel bad, for any reason.

“I just-” Enjolras paused for a time, making it up by rubbing Grantaire’s back. “Last time – when we left, when we escaped, there was no time, and I was so worried you’d – that there would be something you needed and I wouldn’t have it. I know we don’t need food or blankets or anything tomorrow, I know Combeferre will pack everything just like I asked while we’re in our meeting and that everything will be at our apartment when we get there, and that if we did need anything, we could get it, or send someone to get it for us, I just-”

“You want to be prepared?” Grantaire suggested. “That sounds reasonable to me.”

“You don’t have to humor me, Grantaire.”

Grantaire hummed. “I’m pretty sure humoring you is my job. And before you start to worry, no, I don’t go along with anything I’m not interested in.”

“OK,” Enjolras said. He must be too tired to put up a proper fight. He was quiet for long enough Grantaire thought he must have fallen asleep. “R,” Enjolras began and then hesitated, “do you ever think about, you know, everything?”

“You’ll need to be a little more specific, Enjolras.”

“No, I don’t mean any of the…bad stuff. I mean, everything you did for me then, everything you do for me now.”

“I don’t know what you mean? What is there to think about?”

Grantaire thought that might have been the wrong answer when Enjolras said, “Oh, R,” but then he was pulled close and kissed, so it must not have been. “I don’t deserve you, Grantaire,” he whispered. And as Unfair as it was when Enjolras called him R, it was Very Unfair when he got all serious and intense like this and called him Grantaire. “I love you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The morning turned out to be so busy, Grantaire felt like he barely saw Enjolras, even though he was needy enough to try to always been in the same room as him, even when it got a little too crowded. Jehan had made them an extra large breakfast (and it was actually extra large in normal person standards, now that they were consistently eating full meals), and then Feuilly arrived with his tools to start disassembling Enjolras’s bed frame so it could removed and sent off to whatever Good Cause Enjolras had chosen, and then Master Bahorel came to collect the sleeping pads they had been sleeping on (at least Grantaire could be useful here, since Enjolras disappeared when it came time to remove the duct tape binding them together) and Dr. Combeferre arrived with the moving truck, list in hand, of everything to collect before going to their storage unit, Master de Courfeyrac in tow to go to the final meeting. Jehan grew teary again when it was time for them to leave, even though they would be meeting them at the new apartment a little later. 

Their spare bedroom was empty now, with Feuilly waiting for Enjolras and Grantaire to finally clear out so that he could start moving things back where they belonged. Enjolras was performing one last check (well, more like the tenth last check) of their bring-along bin, which now had a spare change of clothes for each of them, a few of their blankets, and Grantaire’s comforter on top, besides what they had put in it the previous day. He lifted the bin to his hip and stood, before leaning forward to kiss Grantaire. “Are you ready, R?”

Of course he wasn’t ready. He would probably need to live with Enjolras for at least five years before he actually felt ready to move in with him. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He shrugged, but smiled when Enjolras kissed him on the top of the head.

Master de Courfeyrac was waiting by the door and beamed when he saw them. “All set?” Enjolras nodded, but Master de Courfeyrac furrowed his brow. “Why don’t you leave that here, Enjolras? Ferre will make sure it gets packed.” 

“No, this is just important things I want to make sure don’t get lost,” Enjolras said, fairly evenly. He must have practiced this in his head. A lot.

Master de Courfeyrac looked slightly wounded, probably because it had just been suggested that his boyfriend, who was methodically ticking everything staged in the living room off on a clipboard (a real, honest-to-God clipboard,) might lose or forget something. “Are you sure, Enjolras? We’re all here to help.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Enjolras’s tone was still calm, but edging towards clipped, and by the way he sighed in relief when Master de Courfeyrac finally shrugged and turned to go, he hadn’t been prepared for much more questioning. 

It was a little awkward rolling into their meeting with a bin in tow, though neither of the lawyers commented (which was good, because after all Enjolras had done for them, the least they could do was look past a little strangeness) but when Enjolras took out a single folder and put it on the table, everyone relaxed. (Perhaps they thought Jehan had had a hand in making some sort of 3D, multimedia, avant-garde impact statement and were relieved they were going to get a regular, run-of-the-mill written one instead.) 

“Good morning,” the lead lawyer greeted. “It looks like the two of you have made some decisions about your statement?”

Enjolras laid his hands on the folder but didn’t slide it over just yet. “Yes, we did one together.” He started tapping his fingers subconsciously and glanced over at Master de Courfeyrac in a way Grantaire was sure he thought was inconspicuous, though it decidedly was not. “But we were hoping to keep it…private until it’s presented in court.” Both lawyers looked down the table, where Master de Courfeyrac looked a little surprised (though why should he, this didn’t even rank on the list of the top 500 bizarre things the two of them had done) but he nodded. Only then did Enjolras push the folder over. 

It was a testament to their skill that neither of the prosecutors gave any reaction upon reading it, and they even flipped through the rest of the pages like they were also part of the statement, and not just blank paper added for show. “Well,” the lead prosecutor finally said, “this is hardly the…standard statement, but I think in this case it will be perfectly fine. Have you decided whether you will be attending?”

“No, we would – rather not. Our friends will be coming though.”

Her mouth quirked just slightly. “Perfectly understandable. Well then, we will say goodbye then. I’m sure Courfeyrac and Marius can help explain what happens, but if you have any other questions, about any part of the case, you know how to contact us.” They all stood and shook hands, which was still pretty weird, and that…was it. Grantaire felt so light he was almost floating as they left. Master would be going away for a long, long time, and they never needed to testify or talk about what happened in front of large groups of people ever again. He was on his way to his new apartment, to their new apartment, they were going to get married, and they were going to finally be allowed to move on with their lives. It sort of felt like the last day of school, only much better. 

He could tell Master de Courfeyrac wanted to ask a million questions on the way to the new apartment, but he miraculously didn’t, and when they reached their destination, the controlled chaos consumed everything else. Enjolras had entrusted their keys to Dr. Combeferre, and the move-in process seemed to be well underway. Master Lesgle and Master Pontmercy were sitting on the edge of the open truck, guarding their belongings, as Feuilly and Master Bahorel appeared with a dolly to retrieve another load. They shooed Enjolras and Grantaire away when they tried to help, but let them ride up in the elevator with them. Master de Courfeyrac danced around the piles of stuff accumulating in the center of the room to greet Dr. Combeferre, who was still efficiently running the show with his clipboard. Dr. Joly and Mistress Musichetta were in the kitchen, playing Tetris with the fridge, a mountain of dishes, as well as fresh and frozen items, stacked on the counter. Jehan was over by the large window, arranging the dahlias Enjolras had grown and a few other flowers in front of it. Mistress Fauchelevent was wiping down the furniture already brought up. 

Éponine leapt down from where she had been sitting on the stairs to the loft, a pile of boxes in front of her, when she saw them. “Welcome home,” she said. “All your bedroom shit is here. The apartment was pretty clean when we started, but if you want to sweep or something before you start setting up, Cosette and Combeferre will use their magical powers to find whatever you need.”

“Lists are hardly magical,” Dr. Combeferre offered from where he was sorting through what had just been brought up. 

Enjolras looked around and smiled a little before taking their special bin up to the loft. Grantaire trailed behind with the first box he grabbed from the stack. Enjolras helped him carry the mattress up, more awkward than heavy, but when they went to grab more boxes, he hesitated, looking around the apartment. Grantaire reached out and touched his arm. “I can take care of all this. Go and supervise.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mean to leave you with all this.”

“Yes, I’m sure. We don’t even have that much.” 

Enjolras beamed and took his hand. “I would kiss you, but I want our first kiss in our apartment to be special.” Grantaire wanted to tell Enjolras it was fine, it didn’t need to be special, but he was already gone and in some terribly deep discussion with Feuilly. Éponine returned from wherever she had been and helped hand things up to Grantaire, though she never went more than partway up the steps. When she picked up the last box, she looked up at Grantaire and then sat down, patting the spot beside her. He wanted to retreat upstairs, but he went to sit next to her anyway. It helped to look at Enjolras, who was putting things away in the kitchen.

“Are you happy, R?” 

He looked around at everyone doing Enjolras’s well-orchestrated bidding and was distracted by Enjolras pushing a sweaty lock of hair out of his face as he emptied out a few cabinets to rearrange them. He thought about the rings and the license hidden just above them, and all the emails saved in his inbox, and he nodded. “Yes.” Then he shook his head. “I’m still, you know….”

“Depressed?” Éponine offered. “It’s perfectly normal.”

“Yeah, that.” He didn’t think it would be helpful to explain sometimes he was still really fucking depressed. “But I am happy.”

“Good.” She turned to look at him. “OK, don’t get mad at me for suggesting Enjolras isn’t a perfect angel all of the time, but I’m always here if you want to talk, or want me to talk to him, or want to talk to him with me. And our apartment is always open if you want a place to stay, as long as you need it.”

“Thanks,” he said, throat tight. They sat in companionable silence, which was preferable to actually doing any work. Presently there was a discussion, verging on becoming what some might call heated, by the door. It seemed to involve Enjolras convincing Dr. Combeferre that having Feuilly install extra locks on the door wouldn’t cause them to forfeit their security deposit. (Grantaire had no doubt Enjolras would probably arrange for the landlord to pay them for making improvements, rather than losing any money.) “Éponine, can I ask a favor?”

She looked away from the scene. “Sure. What is it?”

Grantaire looked at his hands. If Enjolras could talk to all these other people for their move, surely he could ask one person for one thing for the wedding? “Enjolras and I – we thought it would be good to do…something else during the sentencing. You know, to take our minds off it? But maybe it wouldn’t be good to be completely alone? Would you come – spend time with us?”

Éponine stared at him until Feuilly accepted that Enjolras was inevitably going to win the argument, even if it hadn’t yet concluded, and started loudly drilling at the door. “If Jehan felt suddenly compelled to practice making boutonnieres, would you like to see some samples?” she asked in way of reply.

“As long as they don’t why,” Grantaire quietly told his hands, afraid to look up. 

“Who do you think you’re dealing with?” Éponine said wryly. She ran a hand through her hair. “If I give you a hug, is Enjolras going to appear and crack my skull open?”

Grantaire laughed a little, despite himself. “I think you’ll only summon him if you give me three hugs.”

Éponine laughed too, and gave him a short side hug. “Congratulations,” she said quietly and then stood. “I think I’ll go put a box in the wrong spot so Enjolras and Combeferre will leave poor Feuilly in peace.”

Grantaire climbed slowly back to the loft and busied himself with unpacking. He tried not to let himself think about it too much, and he managed to get through putting their clothes away and arranging their mattress and mismatched nightstands in a way he hoped looked more hipster than hot mess without freaking out. He even managed to make up the bed with the soft sheets Enjolras had bought and roped Jehan into pre-washing and set out a (mostly) reasonable number of blankets before suddenly feeling…done. He sank down on to the bed and watched the apartment coming together, but that awful weepy feeling was creeping up on him again. Feuilly had now been re-assigned to assembling their kitchen table, though it looked a little odd, and Grantaire tried to focus on that, but it was hard with so many competing thoughts. He wanted to talk to Enjolras, or, more realistically, take a long nap and not wake up until everyone was gone.

He wasn’t sure where he came from or how he knew to come, but suddenly Enjolras was sitting carefully down next to him. He had taken Grantaire’s comforter out of its box and wrapped it around him. “Feeling alright?”

“What is Feuilly working on?” Grantaire asked instead of explaining yet again that he was a bit of an emotional mess. (The “bit” part was an understatement.)

“Oh.” Enjolras blushed, which seemed a little odd for a table, unless he had some secret kinky fantasies about table sex that Grantaire didn’t know about. This seemed unlikely. “I thought it might get hard with school, and work, and just…stuff, not to have a desk, so I commissioned Feuilly to build this hybrid table-desk thing I found online. Well, I tried to commission him. He is still insisting it’s a housewarming present, and he refuses to listen to reason. I know it must have taken a lot of time to make, not to mention all the materials.” 

Grantaire and his weepiness had not been expecting something so thoughtful, and he had to wipe hurriedly at his eyes. Enjolras tightened the blanket around him. “Combeferre knows what to do. I can stay here.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No. No, I’ll be fine. The last few days have just been a lot all at once.” Enjolras studied him carefully. “Really, I’m fine. Well, not fine, obviously, but I’m not going to have a breakdown if you go help. I promise.”

“Alright,” Enjolras finally conceded. “I am still trying to figure out who switched all the bathroom boxes with ones in the kitchen.”

“Wow, that sure sounds like a mystery,” agreed Grantaire, and watched Enjolras go. It was a silly romantic trick of the mind, but he thought he could still feel Enjolras’s touch, and hear his words, and that helped. He felt rather like a lazy blob, sitting wrapped in a blanket while everyone else was busy, but he didn’t have the energy to contribute anything else. At least he wasn’t in anyone’s way up here. At some point, Éponine chucked an apple over the railing and into his lap, and he did feel a little better after eating it. 

Finally, Dr. Combeferre was satisfied with everything, and Enjolras was satisfied with everything, and they had the apartment to themselves. Grantaire descended as Enjolras triple-locked their door and set the alarm Feuilly had installed (Feuilly had really been busy), which seemed a little overkill, but apparently it was one of the “perks” of being a kidnapping victim, and if the government wanted to buy them more shit for free, Grantaire wasn’t going to complain. Enjolras slumped on to the couch (the very nice, expensive couch that had originally been his), but he managed a smile when he saw Grantaire. 

“I’ll get us something to eat,” Grantaire offered, because he really should do something productive at this point. 

“Alright,” Enjolras agreed, tired. Grantaire found everything Mistress Musichetta had made was neatly labeled in the fridge, complete with instructions on how long to reheat everything, but it seemed like too much work to go through it all, so he took out a dish of lasagna because it was on top. Enjolras was watching him strangely as he carried the plates over (the very nice, expensive plates that had also originally been his,) but when he didn’t say anything, Grantaire didn’t either. He still had that strange look when he finished, but he waited for Grantaire to set his own empty plate down before speaking.

“Does cooking bother you, Grantaire?” he asked.

Grantaire blinked. That was hardly the question he had expected. “I don’t know if I’d count reheating shit in the microwave as ‘cooking,’ but no, I don’t mind. Why do you ask?”

Enjolras started twisting his fingers together sharply, watching himself do it and still making no attempt to stop. “I didn’t know if it brought up any…bad memories.”

Grantaire nodded. “I see what you mean. I guess it does make me feel bad if I think about it, but it isn’t really triggering in and of itself.” It probably helped that when he did it now, it was for Enjolras, and thinking about pleasing Enjolras could mask a whole metric ton of bad memories. “Would it be triggering for you?” he asked, as Enjolras continued to twist his fingers.

There was a pause, and then Enjolras quietly admitted, “Yes.” He swallowed. “I realize that is rather…impractical.”

“It’s not impractical. I can take care of everything. I don’t mind.” He knew he didn’t need to be useful to Enjolras on a daily basis to be allowed to stay, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. 

“No,” Enjolras said, not quite snapping, and then shaking his head. “It – I feel bad seeing you do it, too.”

“I really don’t mind. Does that help at all?”

“No,” Enjolras said, pressing his hands into his face. 

“OK, let’s say I really, really mind. Does that help?”

Enjolras was silent and then laughed suddenly, pulling his hands away enough to look at Grantaire. “No, that doesn’t help either.” This time he took Grantaire’s hand. 

“Alright. Then I can cook when you’re not here, or we can order out.” 

“What about cleaning?”

“We can just never clean and welcome the dust bunnies as our new overlords. Or we could do something ‘sensible’ and hire a cleaning person.”

Enjolras frowned. “We’re supposed to be saving money until I can start working.”

Grantaire poked him in the side. “You are supposed to be a good member of our capitalist society by purchasing goods and services you don’t actually need.” This actually made Enjolras laugh and relax somewhat. “I’m sure we can find a nice small business for you to support, if you’d prefer to think of it that way.” 

“You have good ideas,” Enjolras conceded. He released a massive yawn and tried to look surprised at finding he was tired. 

“My next good idea is that we should go to sleep.” Enjolras must really have been tired because he let Grantaire tug him to his feet and lead him to the loft. He perked up a little after they changed (facing away from each other of course, Grantaire wasn’t that functional yet) and sat tentatively on either side of the bed.

“Are you still alright with this? You can change your mind. I won’t mind.”

Grantaire crawled in instead of answering and let Enjolras quietly join him under the covers. He could feel the bad memories threatening to surface, but this was different than being in Master’s bed – it was warm and cozy and smelled nice, a mixture of detergent and Enjolras, and it had his pillow and their blankets, and he knew that even if he decided to sleep completely naked, Enjolras wouldn’t touch him without his explicit permission. “I think it’s going to be hard, at first,” he admitted once they settled down, “but I’ll be alright, eventually.” 

Enjolras smiled and reached up to rub Grantaire’s cheek his thumb. “Is this an alright time for our first new apartment kiss?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “How very dramatic,” but he nodded and let Enjolras gently kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the wedding will be next chapter! :D


	63. Chapter Sixty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit I struggled with how to write the wedding. I though shortening the actual wedding bits to have more time for processing it was better, but I hope no one is too disappointed with that! (Honestly, this was 1000x more stressful to write than the smut.)

Grantaire looked up when there was a brisk knock on the door. Enjolras squeezed his hand and went to answer it without bothering to pause the movie they had stopped even pretending to watch. Grantaire turned it off and took the sandwiches they had stopped pretending they were going to eat back to the kitchen and covered them in plastic wrap. 

“Hello, hello,” said Éponine when Enjolras finally let her in. 

“Good afternoon,” Enjolras said a little stiffly. After he re-locked the door, Grantaire watched him look out the peep hole for a long while. He finally turned away and watched Éponine digging through her purse at the table. 

She found what she was looking for but stopped without taking it out. “Grantaire, are we still pretending that I don’t know what’s going on?” she asked, though she was looking at Enjolras. While Enjolras’s face wasn’t blank, his expression was still inscrutable, and Grantaire felt frozen. Enjolras had been jumpy all morning, and he didn’t know how much of that was related to the sentencing and how much was related to getting married (and how much was related to getting married to Grantaire, specifically) and how much was related to Éponine knowing and how much was related to everyone else having the impression, for now, that dinner was just to celebrate the end of the trial. The wedding was Grantaire’s show to run, and since they both knew Éponine knew, he hadn’t thought to plan some sort of dramatic reveal. But he had forgotten how crabby and defensive Enjolras could get when he thought someone might be trying to interfere with his plans. (Though Enjolras would undoubtedly describe it in different words.)

Sure enough, his mouth in a tight line, Enjolras said, “I asked Grantaire to marry me.”

“This might come as a shock, but I had basically figured it out.”

Enjolras’s hands came together and pulled apart several times, and he finally managed to leave them at his sides. He stared at Éponine, but Grantaire could see the effort it was taking not to look away. “Does anyone else know?”

“Don’t be dumb. If we took a poll, everyone would either say they expected you two to marry or to consciously choose not to marry in some sort of middle finger to the patriarchy or whatever, but I don’t think anyone has any idea it’s happening today.” She finally pulled out a small box from her purse, and opened it to reveal a handful of small boutonnieres in a variety of styles. 

“What about Jehan?” Enjolras asked, getting dangerously close to snapping territory now, nodding at the flowers.

“Someone at the salon knew they loved flowers and was wondering if they could provide a few samples, even though they don’t really do weddings.” She looked up after spreading them out. “It can be a little harder to know what Jehan is thinking all the time, and maybe us mere mortals won’t always be able to make sense of it, but they didn’t act out of the ordinary. If they have guessed, they’ve put two and two together and realize it’s supposed to be on the DL for now.”

Grantaire was suddenly seized about the waist by Enjolras. He let out a soft sound, more from surprise than anything, but Enjolras still stopped and looked him over tenderly, and because it was Enjolras, it somehow didn’t ruin the effect of him snapping back into angry mode. “You can’t stop us.”

Éponine raised her eyebrows, but that was the extent to which she showed her exasperation. She sounded unruffled when she assured him, “Enjolras, no one is trying to stop you. I’m certainly not trying to stop you. I would be a pretty shitty witness if I showed up just to object.” 

Enjolras stared back and then relaxed. He rubbed Grantaire’s side, and Grantaire couldn’t tell if it was an apology or unconsciously done out of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Éponine,” he said softly. “I was just – concerned.” 

She shrugged. “No need to be sorry. Though maybe I should ask – are you going to be alright announcing this later?”

“We won’t need to,” Enjolras said, his arm going tight around Grantaire again. (It’d be a miracle if his lungs were still working properly by the end of the day.)

“OK,” Éponine dragged out the word, “you two are already pretty lovey-dovey. I don’t care how obvious you act tonight – unless you roll in with a giant ‘we just got married’ sign, I don’t think anyone is going to want to ask. You know, just in case they were wrong.”

“No, they’ll already have found out by the time they get there.”

Éponine furrowed her brow and then made the connection. “Well, fuck, that’s certainly a dramatic way to do it.”

“It’s not dramatic,” Enjolras insisted. (It was very dramatic.) (But Master also had similar inclinations, and if doing it this way made Enjolras feel more empowered, Grantaire didn’t mind.) 

“When are we leaving?” Éponine asked, wisely letting the matter drop. 

Enjolras turned to Grantaire and rubbed his side again. Grantaire was almost tempted to say the whole thing was cancelled, it was too much, but he managed, “Pretty soon. I wanted – I thought we should allow enough time for pictures.” He knew he was turning red, but who wouldn’t have that reaction to saying (out loud!) that they were going to take wedding photos with Enjolras? 

“Alright, why don’t I let you finish getting ready, then?” Éponine offered and drifted away to the window, which, despite its proximity to the kitchen, was the farthest she could get from them without going up to the loft. 

Enjolras relaxed fully once she was staring outside, her back to them. He rubbed Grantaire’s hand. “I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t do anything to ruin today, I just-”

“Enjolras, you didn’t ruin anything,” Grantaire whispered, feeling like he was yelling in the quiet apartment. Éponine started loudly humming to herself.

“I knew I was going to get like that, and I told myself I wouldn’t. I know Éponine is here because she wants to be, and I know no one will be angry later, but I just get those thoughts in my head, and I know they’re wrong, but I can’t seem to stop myself.” 

“It’s alright,” Grantaire repeated, and then dared himself to lean up to kiss Enjolras. He softened and smiled a little. 

“I am excited to marry you, Grantaire.”

“I sort of gathered that.” Enjolras was blushing again, so Grantaire waved a hand at the table. “Do you want to choose?”

“OK.” Enjolras kissed the top of his head and started looking through the boutonnieres Éponine had brought. He selected two similar ones, each a slightly different combination of white flowers and green leaves, and fairly simple for something that had been crafted by Jehan. He looked a little unsure as he held them up. “Do we do this now? Or when we get there?” No wonder he was so on edge. The entire day revolved around an event Enjolras was convinced would be stopped by others, and even if it did go smoothly, he didn’t even really know what that would look like.

“Now is fine. So we don’t end up forgetting.” His hands were shaking slightly when he reached to take the boutonniere Enjolras held out. Enjolras took his hands when they connected and held them until Grantaire managed a small smile. It grew wider, despite himself, when Enjolras stepped closer and very carefully pinned on the boutonniere, to his own sweater that Grantaire had borrowed for the occasion. (Enjolras insisted this was a symbolic representation of their unity. Grantaire had a sneaking suspicion Enjolras had simply grown attached to wearing each other’s clothes and didn’t want to stop.) (Just like when Enjolras insisted they wear simple, long-sleeved shirts underneath to keep with the more informal feeling Grantaire had planned, when it was probably obvious from outer space that he wanted to avoid the more conventional collared button-downs just because that’s what they had worn to court.) 

When Enjolras was done fussing, Grantaire reached out and pinned his boutonniere on, focusing very hard on not stabbing him in the chest. He could feel Enjolras’s heartbeat, and it helped settle him a little. He let himself run his hand down Enjolras’s arm as he pulled away and was rewarded when Enjolras caught his hand and caressed it. None of this felt real. For so long his only focus, his only drive in life had been to keep Enjolras alive, and maybe even comfortable, if he was particularly unlucky, unbothered by how little Enjolras cared for him. (Well, it had been terribly sad, but it hadn’t exactly been a brand-new feeling and it hadn’t stopped him, either.) And now Enjolras was before him, alive and healthy and safe, and that love and devotion was returned. “Ready?” he asked, his voice croaky as he abruptly became choked up. Enjolras kissed him in answer.

Éponine must have been paying more attention than she let on, as she popped back into the kitchen without prompting. “You look nice,” she said, nodding. 

“Thank you,” Grantaire said, before Enjolras could launch into an overly-rationalized explanation of what they were wearing. 

And then it was time to leave. Éponine took their license in her purse, and Grantaire checked about a hundred times the rings were in his pocket. The two of them stood in the hall together while Enjolras went through his ritual of setting the alarm, checking he had set the alarm, locking the door, and checking he had locked the door. They had just so happened to have been invited to short lunches or quick errands every day since they moved, in a rotation schedule probably designed by Dr. Combeferre, and Enjolras had gotten fairly efficient at his routine. (He grumbled every time he was forced to go out, but Jehan’s sadness had affected him so terribly that he kept the complaints to a minimum. And Grantaire had to admit it was probably good they were being forced to leave their apartment on a regular basis. Not that he wasn’t looking forward to a week of nothing but time with Enjolras.)

They took the subway and from there walked to a park and found a bench to wait on. Éponine dug a bag of stale bread from her purse and looked perfectly content throwing pieces for the birds to catch. It was a good distraction, though evidently not enough for Enjolras, who started bouncing his leg after a few minutes. Grantaire looked at him, and he shook his head. “I just want it to be official.” Maybe it wasn’t good they had gotten there early, but sitting outside in the sun with Éponine there to remind them of the real world was preferable to agonizing inside by themselves. (They had probably already set a world record for doing that, and it was nice not to keep adding to it.)

Grantaire was used to time passing strangely. Waiting for Enjolras had always felt like an eternity, but afterwards it felt short in retrospect, because it could’ve always been longer, and that wasn’t even taking into account how their brief waking minutes alone felt like seconds. But it was even odder when the photographer and the officiant arrived and suddenly, after all that planning and time and secrecy, the wedding was here. The two women introduced themselves and shook hands with all three of them, and both seemed excited. (That was probably heavily influenced by the fact they were getting paid for that excitement as part of the package, but neither of them looked ready to suggest Enjolras should go home and think about his life choices.) 

“Would it be alright if we filled out the license first?” Grantaire asked. The officiant smiled and agreed, unfazed, and helped make sure they all signed in the correct places, and then sealed it in an envelope to mail. Enjolras supervised the proceedings carefully and then was overtaken with a giant grin. When the officiant was tucking the envelope in her briefcase, he quickly kissed Grantaire and laughed. Éponine stepped away to chase off a few people who had stopped to look when they saw the photographer setting up.

“Ready?” asked the officiant, and they all walked over to an open grassy space. The officiant stood behind them, and Éponine stood off to the side, where she wouldn’t be captured in the photos. Grantaire’s hands trembled as he reached out for Enjolras’s, and he felt better when Enjolras flipped them so he could rub Grantaire’s palms with his thumbs without it being obvious. He had decided on a very short ceremony, since it seemed silly to do more when there was only one “guest” in attendance. The officiant simply stated they were here for their marriage and then read an excerpt from the Supreme Court case legalizing gay marriage nationwide. (Grantaire had been nervous to suggest this, but while Enjolras had been very excited to find out about it, he didn’t immediately go on a bender trying to consume four years of news all at once.) Even though Grantaire knew exactly what was being said, had signed off on it, it really didn’t register now, and he was grateful that Enjolras squeezed his hands to bring him back to the present when it was time for their vows. 

His voice sounded strange in his ears as he repeated the words after the officiant and slipped Enjolras’s ring on to his finger. Enjolras sounded just as odd as he repeated the same words and slid on Grantaire’s ring. And then the officiant pronounced them officially married, and that was it. She didn’t prompt them to kiss (per Grantaire’s request,) but they still did, because they wanted to, not because anyone was telling them what kind of contact they could or could not have. They both had to wipe away a few tears when they pulled apart, and Éponine was crying too, when she came up to furiously hug them both. (Yes, hugs could indeed be furious when they came from Éponine.) She stepped away as their photographer came up to let them take pictures around the park, which was even more of a surreal blur. It was hard to believe soon enough Grantaire would be able to have prints made of his favorites, that he could frame them and then display them for everyone to see.

Éponine came to collect them when they had finished and didn’t complain when they took a long walk to the restaurant instead of taking the subway again. (Or, more accurately, she didn’t complain when they were super sickening together on that long walk.) He couldn’t even be nervous about the dinner anymore. It was so weird to be happy enough that all his dark thoughts were (temporarily) kept at bay. He gave his name when they arrived at the restaurant, and the host ushered them back to their private room and wished them congratulations.

They sat at the head of the table while they waited, holding hands, knees touching. Éponine had slipped away, and Grantaire didn’t know if it was because she wanted to give them a little privacy, or because she couldn’t handle the continued (and rather excessive) PDA. It’s not like either of them made the best company right now, because it was hard to focus on anything but each other. Enjolras’s ring had warmed against Grantaire’s palm, and he kept fiddling with his own ring with his thumb. If anyone saw him alone, he knew all they would be able to see is that he was married, period, (if they even noticed at all,) and that they would not magically know Enjolras was his husband, but he would know. (And he knew that’s how wedding rings worked for everyone, that there was nothing inherently special about theirs, but he was going to let himself pretend there was, because Enjolras was his fucking husband.) It was nice, just being able to sit quietly together and bask in the glow, and while he didn’t feel scared right then, he almost wished there was no dinner, so that they could just go home, go to their home, now, but it would make Enjolras happy, and he could manage. (And it didn’t hurt he had purposely booked the room for only a few hours to proactively prevent an extended celebration.)

At some point, Éponine came back in, making an unnecessary racket. They both looked up at her, though Enjolras apparently couldn’t resist kissing Grantaire’s temple again before doing so. (And there was no way Grantaire could resist blushing. It was a minor miracle Éponine hadn’t just left.) “Everyone is going to be here soon,” she said. “Are you ready, or do you want me to distract them for awhile?” 

“What did they say?” Enjolras asked, ignoring her actual question. 

“Nothing actually. Courf texted me, and while he was bubblier than usual, he didn’t specifically mention it.”

“Oh.”  
Grantaire could see Enjolras struggling not to give in and bite his lip. “Maybe the wording made it a little unclear?” he suggested. (He hadn’t suggested this earlier, because he didn’t want to ruin Enjolras’s not-dramatic-drama.) 

Enjolras furrowed his brow and then his face cleared. “I suppose it was. I can only assume Courfeyrac didn’t want to tell Éponine in case she didn’t know for a reason.” He paused. “But he didn’t sound angry?”

“Nope. Like I said, extra super happy, which I wouldn’t say was possible, except it’s Courfeyrac.” 

In the distance, Grantaire heard a large group of people enter the restaurant. This was it. 

There was a double-patter of running feet in the hall, and then Master de Courfeyrac barged in, dragging Dr. Combeferre behind him by the wrist. His mouth was open to say (well, yell) something, but he covered it with his hand when he saw Éponine, looking between her and Enjolras and Grantaire with comically wide eyes. Dr. Combeferre took the moment to adjust his glasses. 

“I know,” said Éponine, nodding towards them, which Enjolras took as their cue to stand up.

“But do you know-know,” Master de Courfeyrac inquired seriously. “What if you think you know but you actually just know something else?”

“She knows,” Enjolras said, before this semantic debate about knowing could spiral out of control.

There was another moment of silence, before Master de Courfeyrac shouted, “You’re getting married!” and barely kept from leaping into the air at the same time. Dr. Combeferre winced slightly from the noise, but he went unnoticed.

Enjolras took Grantaire’s left hand with his and held them up so their rings were visible. “We are married.”

This time Master de Courfeyrac really did jump into the air (several times) and then turned to yell, “Ferre, they got married!” 

“So I heard,” said Dr. Combeferre rather dryly, but he was smiling fondly down at Master de Courfeyrac. 

Master de Courfeyrac made another ecstatic sound and then bounded over to them, Dr. Combeferre still securely in tow. He made an aborted movement as Dr. Combeferre gently touched his arm. His face fell a little. “Are hugs OK?” He added hastily, “It’s fine if they’re not.” 

Enjolras turned to look at Grantaire. Grantaire had no idea how he felt about hugs. (Well, he was of the opinion that Enjolras Hugs were very nice, but that was different.) He had liked the hug Éponine gave him on moving day, but he didn’t know about anyone else. It didn’t sound particularly fun, or like something he would seek out of his own accord, but he knew it was massive progress that the suggestion didn’t have him running from the room to hide or bracing himself for impact. (And it was massive progress that Enjolras was letting him think this over, instead of dragging him out and trying to get them both away to somewhere safer.) But this was their de facto wedding reception, and he was tired, so fucking tired, of letting Master continue to live in his head and affect his actions like this. Master was in jail now, for real, for a long time. Grantaire was tired of being in his own head like this. Enjolras was right there if something happened, and Éponine, who would then make sure it never happened again. “Alright,” he agreed. 

That ecstatic sound was repeated, even more loudly, and then Grantaire was enveloped in a hug. “Congratulations!” He pulled away. 

And Grantaire recognized Courfeyrac as his friend. 

He had never intended, didn’t intend, would never intend to do any of the awful things Master had put into his mind. Courfeyrac had probably caused half the block to go deaf in his excitement about Grantaire’s surprise marriage to his best friend (even though he hadn’t attended and had delayed his own wedding indefinitely because of their disappearance,) he had still managed to catch himself and make sure Grantaire didn’t mind being touched (and would’ve respected it if Grantaire had declined,) and he had been working tirelessly to help them with their case (even though it was the opposite of what he normally did and doing so meant enduring Grantaire’s despondency and tears and the release of Enjolras’s of pent-up wrath, without so much as a proper thanks.) 

“Congratulations, Grantaire,” said Combeferre, starting with a handshake before transitioning to a brief hug. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked under the cover of Courfeyrac being very noisy at Enjolras. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, not fine, just – everything makes more sense now?” He might’ve felt embarrassed admitting to anyone else he was off-kilter because he had just now, after months and months of nothing but kindness and patience, just realized his friends were his friends and were going to act like friends, but Combeferre just nodded. 

“I’m very happy to hear that,” he said and moved on to attempting to get Courfeyrac to take it down a few notches. 

The rest of their friends had jammed up at the door, and whatever they saw was apparently the signal they needed to flood in. Jehan was in front, and when they reached Grantaire, they gave him a long hug and then took both his hands. “Thank you for the flowers,” Grantaire managed to say politely, even though his brain felt less than functional now.

“Oh, R.” They were tearing up, and this close Grantaire could see their eyes were a little red, like these weren’t the first tears of the day. “I’m glad to see you so happy. You deserve it. Enjolras should feel very lucky to have you.” 

“I do,” said Enjolras, from where he was still trapped by Courfeyrac, with a slightly pleading look in his eyes. Jehan slid in to hug him and Combeferre was finally able to move Courfeyrac and his unbridled excitement over to where Éponine was standing, and she humored him as he peppered her with questions. Joly and Musichetta and Bossuet came up together, but Joly glanced at his partners out of the corner of his eye, and they didn’t proceed with their group hug until Grantaire opened his arms in invitation. “We’re so happy for you, R,” Musichetta said, her voice muffled by the pile of bodies. Bossuet and Joly murmured their agreement, though when they pulled away, as Musichetta and Bossuet moved to embrace Enjolras, Joly clasped his arm and grinned. It was somehow more intimate than the hug had been, but Joly was his only friend who knew all of what had had happened, and his approval of the marriage, after having examined Grantaire’s damaged body and having sat in court and heard in great detail exactly where that damage had come from and why it had been caused, meant more than Grantaire had realized. (He had been so busy worrying what everyone might think, he hadn’t assigned special fear to any one person.)

Feuilly came up next and shook Grantaire’s hand and then Enjolras’s, followed by Bahorel who almost lifted them both off the floor, together. Cosette hugged each of them once their feet were solidly back on the ground. “Marius is getting you drinks,” she explained. He appeared moments after, carefully holding two very colorful drinks.

“Congratulations!” he said, and Cosette relieved him of the glasses before he could get stuck trying to decide how to hug them without spilling. 

“I’m the only one who can’t drink,” Grantaire tried to say, casually, very casually, as Marius gave them their drinks without paying attention to who got which one. 

Enjolras gave him a look and took a pointed sip. “What is this?” he asked, a little strained. (That would show him for not taking the hint.) Grantaire tried his and almost winced from the sweetness. 

Marius brightened. “Do you like it? I don’t get any credit though, Courfeyrac made it up once when we were out and I couldn’t decide what to get.” He started reaching for his phone and Cosette linked their arms together. 

“I’m sure you can send it to them later,” she suggested, and Marius beamed at her, as she led him away.

“I thought you liked drinks like this,” Grantaire said quietly, as Enjolras forced down more. 

“I like drinks that don’t taste like alcohol, not ones that instantly give me cavities.” 

Grantaire was on the verge of suggesting Enjolras should discreetly see about getting a replacement drink with some actual booze in it, when two servers appeared and everyone filtered in to their seats. They sat in the middle of the table, Jehan sitting at Grantaire’s right, and Combeferre to Enjolras’s left, kept busy by encouraging Courfeyrac to talk to their other friends instead of climbing into his boyfriend’s lap to ask Enjolras questions. Grantaire hadn’t exactly been able to find out what his friends would want to eat beforehand (and even if he had, it would’ve been far too unsettling to make those decisions for othe rpeople,) so everyone ordered off a limited menu. He worried the conversational flow might stop at some point, or that he and Enjolras would be called upon to maintain it, but it didn’t let up, and as he looked around the table, everyone looked bright and cheerful, especially once drinks were served. 

When they were partway through their salads, Combeferre leaned close to Enjolras and quietly asked, “Would you like to have a toast?” 

Enjolras’s forkful of salad hung in the air, and Grantaire touched the side of his leg under the tablecloth. “I’d rather not.” He lowered his fork and pushed the lettuce leaves around on his plate. He cleared this throat. “My recent experiences of having that much attention focused on me-”

“There wasn’t a right or wrong answer,” Combeferre assured him. He sipped his drink. “Why don’t you tell me about that program you’re applying for?” (This had come up in conversation earlier in the week when the four of them had met for a late lunch, so even though Combeferre pretty much knew all about it already, he also must know this was a Safe Topic, Breakdowns Not Included.) Grantaire felt slightly bereft without Enjolras’s attention, which was in contention for the clingiest thought he’d ever had, but then Enjolras shifted enough so that their knees could touch, and Jehan distracted him by asking how the new apartment was.

“Is everything alright?” they asked as everyone was finishing the main course.

Grantaire looked down and realized he had been pushing the last bits of food around on his plate. “Just tired,” he replied, which was true. Their days in court had been much longer and more taxing, but as the adrenaline rush of the ceremony and the surprise wore off, it was replaced with a contented exhaustion. (Even if he had wanted to sleep with Enjolras that night in the metaphorical sense, he wouldn’t have had the energy to do anything beyond the literal one.) 

As the servers came back to clear plates, one of them leaned down to double-check Grantaire just wanted the cake cut and served normally, and he confirmed it, despite the pang of sadness, but he knew neither of them would’ve felt comfortable feeding each other while everyone watched. Jehan was watching him closely when the server drew away, and then rose up out of their seat enough to see Combeferre and send him a secret message with their eyes. When the cake was served, the two of them redirected the conversation at each end of the table, Jehan encouraging Joly to talk about a research study he had gotten involved in at work, Combeferre prompting Courfeyrac to talk about something Grantaire didn’t even catch because he started talking so fast. 

Enjolras looked around as they were left alone as much as possible and then to Grantaire, a question in his eyes. Grantaire broke off a small piece of cake from his slice with the side of his fork and lifted it up. He could feel his face absolutely burning, because of course he would be able to handle cuddling up with Enjolras every night but would struggle with feeding him one tiny bit of dessert. Enjolras lit up when he realized Grantaire’s intention, and after checking again that their friends were engaged with each other, he let Grantaire feed him, and then fed him in turn. And then quickly kissed him. That silly, giggly feeling came back, and despite his perfectly nonalcoholic drink, Grantaire felt intoxicated. Jehan and Combeferre must have been paying a little bit of attention, because they smoothly added the two of them back into the conversation, like nothing had ever happened. 

By the time everyone had finished, Grantaire felt like he was about to fall asleep at the table, and he was grateful when Éponine tactfully started encouraging everyone to leave. (Less tact was used in getting Courfeyrac out the door, and was only finally accomplished by Combeferre promising that, yes, Courfeyrac could round everyone up for an afterparty.) She also called them a cab, and Enjolras didn’t even argue, which was less surprising when his head kept bobbing on the way home.

Grantaire put the leftover cake in the fridge when they got in and found Enjolras changed and waiting for him at the foot of the stairs once he had put on his own pajamas. They kissed, longer than usual, and then Enjolras led him to bed. He felt brave enough to sleep face-to-face again, and he hardly minded when Enjolras took advantage of the arrangement to kiss him again. Despite his exhaustion, he was too wound up to fall asleep immediately, and he didn’t mind Enjolras rubbing his back either. In fact - 

“You can touch my hair. If you want,” he said, very softly, before he could talk himself out of it. (Just because he was still messed up and couldn’t even bring himself to have sex on his wedding night, it didn’t mean they couldn’t do something new and special, right? Right?) Enjolras shifted so he could more easily play with the curls around Grantaire’s forehead. “No, I meant, actually touching it.”

“This is actually touching it,” Enjolras said gently.

Grantaire wasn’t too tired to roll his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

Enjolras shifted again to look at him. “Are you sure, Grantaire? You don’t have to offer this just to – replace something else.”

“I know. I am sure. Well, as sure as I can be. I promise I want this.” He kissed Enjolras to try to demonstrate further he wasn’t doing this to try to hurt himself. 

Enjolras stared at him for what felt like a very long time but was probably only a few seconds. “I’ll stop whenever you want me to,” he said very seriously, but his touch was soft as he stroked Grantaire’s forehead until he relaxed enough to close his eyes. Grantaire didn’t remain that relaxed as Enjolras slid his hand into his hair (because of course he fucking couldn’t,) but Enjolras let it sit there, completely still, letting Grantaire work through the conflicting feelings of comfort and shame. He was tired of this being ruined for him, that Enjolras was there and willing to play with his hair to make him feel good and happy and safe but he was still struggling to accept it. He burrowed his face into Enjolras’s chest, trying to drink in his scent and warmth and feeling his heartbeat and his chest rise and fall, and he decided that, at least for tonight, he was not going to let the shame control him. He tried to relax again and was rewarded by Enjolras running his hand through his curls in a slow, steady rhythm. He would’ve been embarrassed when he sighed in contentment, but then Enjolras experimented with lightly scratching at his scalp, and he promptly turned into a puddle of goo.

“Still nice?” Enjolras asked after some time.

Grantaire hummed in reply. Talking sounded like so much work.

“It’s not upsetting?” Enjolras pressed.

“No, it feels really good.” That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the whole truth either, and all Grantaire’s usual defenses had been worn away. “All the shame and the guilt and all that other shit is still there, but I want this more than I’m afraid of it.”

“That’s good,” Enjolras said, clearly relieved. No wonder – if Grantaire was triggered, he would be the one who had to clean up the mess, tonight of all nights. That was hardly fair to keep asking Enjolras (expecting Enjolras, more like, which was very dangerous territory) to constantly be on eggshells because he couldn’t cope properly.

“I was thinking,” Grantaire started slowly, because that sounded better than saying he had finally had this very obvious thought. “I used to see someone….”

“A therapist?” prompted Enjolras in a neutral tone.

“Yes. Talking to her helped, well, obviously it helped or I wouldn’t have kept paying all that money to go. She was nice – I liked her.” He paused and took courage from the way Enjolras was still petting him. “I was thinking – I mean, she might not even be practicing any more, and she doesn’t, or didn’t is more accurate, I guess, really specialize in all the shit wrong with me now, but she knows everything from, you know – before.” He took a deep breath. “Today was so nice, and I was so happy, and I know every day can’t be like that, but I hate being this sad all the time. Even if a lot of the time I don’t feel like there’s any other way I could feel. And you’ve put up with so much from me without complaining, and I want to be a better partner for you. But I can’t be if I’m just in this miserable cloud all the time.”

“You’re my husband now,” Enjolras reminded him with a kiss to the brow. “And I’m more than happy to support you if you think talking to her would help, but I don’t want you doing something like that just for me.”

“OK, if I actually admit that’s one of my vices, will you believe me when I say this is different? I just want to be less of a mess, and that would just so happen to be good for you too, since we’re married and stuff.”

“We are married,” Enjolras agreed. “And that means I’m here for you, R, and I’m not going anywhere. And if this is what you think will help you, you should do it.”

They were quiet again, though Enjolras continued to play with his hair. “You know,” Grantaire observed, “you never asked what the final sentence was.”

Enjolras’s hand stilled and then slowly began to move again. “I was so distracted – so happy, I wasn’t even thinking about that.” He swallowed. “This will probably sound horribly shallow, but I feel like we’ve won, and that’s what really matters. I get to live with you in this apartment and see you every day and we can do whatever we like together, and we don’t have to anything we don’t want to, and our friends are here for both of us, and he has to be in prison for what might be the rest of his life. I don’t know if fantasy is the right word, but knowing we could go see him, together, and then leave, together, and he couldn’t do anything to punish us is enough.”

“That is enough,” Grantaire agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will take no credit for the Supreme Court decision quote - I was researching elopement scripts and found that and decided it was too Enjolras not to use.
> 
> Also, at this point, I'm thinking there will be just two more chapters. I wanted to give everyone a fair warning. :)


	64. Chapter Sixty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter!
> 
> (With a tiny bit of smut again.)

After Enjolras rinsed and dried his face, he ran his razor under the bathroom sink, though there was very little to clear off; he had heard Grantaire out in the kitchen doing their breakfast dishes and packing their lunches, and there had only been so many things for him to do in the bathroom. He dried his hands one last time and then pulled his sleeves down and slipped his thumbs back through the holes.

As he and Grantaire had started spending more time out in public, alone and with their friends, and the weather got warmer and warmer, he had started to notice stares whenever he wore short sleeves, especially when he and Grantaire were close enough to obviously be a couple, which was just about always. He hadn’t understood why a slight change in dress provoked a drastic change in the way others viewed him, until one day, out at lunch with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, while Grantaire and Courfeyrac had gone back to the counter to get their food, Combeferre had given a particularly fearsome, and effective, glare to their table neighbors, and Enjolras had taken this as an opportunity to finally get some insight on what the problem was; Combeferre had made a comment about the scars on his wrists, tactful enough so as not to be humiliating and clear enough for Enjolras to understand the point. 

He hadn’t been able to contribute much to the conversation after that, and he was thankful Courfeyrac’s presence made it less obvious, though Grantaire had shifted enough for their legs to touch and put a hand on his thigh when he had finished his own meal. Enjolras couldn’t even decide what was the worse scenario imagined by onlookers: that Grantaire abused him in private and then played the solicitous husband in public or that Grantaire hurt him in consensual games and didn’t care much for discretion around others. The thought of Grantaire torturing him against his will was so far from reality that he wanted to march over and set the record straight, but he had a feeling he would be the one receiving a Ferre Glare if he did that. On the other hand, knowing strangers were imagining what Grantaire desired and enjoyed sexually made him almost physically ill; it was not a crime, but R deserved his privacy in every way. He doubted it would ever occur to any of these people that someone else had hurt him and R was the one who had protected him and loved him just the same. 

Since his goal was to blend in and be as unnoticeable as possible during his paralegal program, he had promptly ordered a variety of shirts with thumbholes. Of all the trends he was having to catch up on, this was certainly one of the more useful ones. He found the fabric on his palm irritating at first when he typed, but he practiced until he no longer noticed. Some of what he had typed had been emails to his instructor, introducing himself and explaining why he wanted to keep a low profile. He had contemplated not doing this, but he did not want any awkward moments if they had to do some sort of inane icebreaker or if he appeared bored and uninterested, skulking in the back of the room on his laptop during lectures. Grantaire had assured him this was how plenty of people made it through classes in college; he supposed he had missed that while sitting in the front row and contributing to discussion and staying after to discuss, some might say argue, certain points with his professors. He could feel himself slipping into melancholy, remembering that time, so he left the bathroom to find R.

His husband was standing at the table, checking through his messenger bag to make sure he had everything packed. Enjolras’s lunch was next to his own backpack. “I didn’t want to pack it for you and mess up your system,” Grantaire said, waving at it as he wrestled his bag closed. 

“I don’t have a system,” he protested, since Grantaire was not watching to see him carefully tuck it into the second pocket, left otherwise empty in case of accidents. 

“You look nice,” Grantaire commented when he had finished. No matter how many times Grantaire complimented him, Enjolras knew he meant it every time.

“So do you.” Grantaire’s wardrobe had been expanded to include more flannel shirts, the new ones only distinguishable from the old because of the lack of paint splatters, and he had taken to wearing them with something of Enjolras’s underneath, though whether he buttoned them or not seemed to depend on his mood and the company they kept rather than the weather. Today he had all but the very top button done up. Enjolras was happy Grantaire had found a way to dress that made him comfortable, and that he let Enjolras steal the shirts from the hamper to wear to bed. 

“Guess I’ll have to go back to the drawing board on my hobo aesthetic then.” 

“Grantaire, you say that every time. Why can’t I just think it’s cute?” He had given up on telling him not to make light of the plight of the homeless like that, since the first and only time had tried had resulted in Grantaire laughing until he cried and assuring Enjolras his self-deprecation was not intended as political commentary. 

“And I’ve told you, if the only person you could find to support your case is Jehan, it’s not actually cute.” 

Enjolras reached out and took his hand. “Grantaire, if other people in my class see us together, I’m not going to be ashamed of you.” His husband only grunted and turned away to go to kitchen cabinet. Enjolras took the hint and dropped the subject and obediently took his anti-depressant, while Grantaire took his own. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” His husband slipped his phone into his pocket and tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to reschedule my appointment?”

“Of course not. And you’re not allowed to ask that when you’re the one who gave me a lecture when I thought about skipping a week at the gym with Bahorel. What happened to your deeply held conviction that routine is an important management tool?”

Grantaire snorted. “My only deeply held conviction is that seeing you get all sweaty and intense sparring is a vital part of my personal routine. Much better than having to process feelings and set goals and shit. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but therapy is not all that fun.” Enjolras had noticed, though beyond ordering delivery for dinner and providing extra cuddles and resisting the urge to ask questions, probing or gentle, after Grantaire’s sessions, he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t exactly like that there might not be much else he could do. 

“Thank you for coming with today,” he said and squeezed Grantaire’s hand as they walked to the bus stop. At least he had learned to phrase statements that way, rather than asking if Grantaire was sure he wanted to come, trying to offer an easy out; this new method generally made R blush and smile and look pleased, rather than becoming quiet and withdrawn. He had only intended not to inconvenience him, but he accepted it didn’t ever occur to his husband to find any of this inconvenient. 

“That’s my job,” Grantaire said with a shrug, but he blushed, and smiled, and looked pleased.

“I thought your job was to be an artist,” Enjolras teased after the bus came and they found a pair of seats in the back. 

Grantaire fished a book out of his bag after they sat down. “Anything I try to draw on the bus could only be marketed as some new modern shit. There is probably a buyer for it somewhere, but that is definitely not what Feuilly’s contact commissioned me to do.”

“You know they hired you because they like your work, not just because you know Feuilly, right?”

“You say that every time,” Grantaire mimicked, opening to his bookmark without looking up.

“What about all the times you’ve gotten commissions from strangers?” 

Grantaire shot him a look but smiled a little when he returned to his book and readily took Enjolras’s hand, even though it made it harder for him to turn the pages. Enjolras had brought his own book to theoretically read on the ride, considering it was an hour long, but he couldn’t focus enough to do more than watch the scenery out the window. He had spent far too much time devising a way to keep his separation anxiety in check already, but the impending enactment of his plan made his heart race. 

Nothing, bad or good, was going to happen, but there were so many what ifs. The scariest was: what if Grantaire disappeared and he never found him again? As humiliating as his night terrors had been, at least he hadn’t remembered anything; that would have been preferable to various versions of that particular nightmare for the past weeks. Grantaire would always wake, even when Enjolras thought he had been rather quiet, and soothe and comfort him, even though Enjolras never told him what the nightmares were about. If he told Grantaire, it might be more likely to happen. He only realized he had started jiggling his leg when Grantaire gently bumped their knees together.

No one was paying them any attention as they drew towards their stop, and R softly kissed his hand. “Everything is going to be fine, Enjolras.” He smirked a little. “Just think of how many times you’ll get to tell people they’re wrong today.”

Enjolras huffed as he followed his husband off. “You know I’m not going to say anything. And even if I wanted to, it’s such a compressed program I can’t imagine there will be much time for discussion.”

Grantaire hummed thoughtfully. “I feel bad for your instructor then. It sounds like they’ll have to bear the brunt for the whole class then.” His smirk turned into a laugh when Enjolras huffed again. 

They arrived early, or Enjolras Early as Grantaire described it, because Enjolras wanted to be settled and in his seat before anyone else came. He hadn’t realized just how tense he had been until he relaxed at finding the assigned classroom empty. He took the seat in the back corner, plugging in his laptop and turning it so that if he did have a neighbor, they wouldn’t be able to see his screen. The room was not especially large, but the projector screen and lectern still felt about a mile away; it was little wonder that people who sat in the back were less attentive. He wondered if he might be the only one in his row and would end up looking more out of place, but he had had more than one class where he was the only one in the front row. This was just going to be the reverse experience, which is what he wanted: no one would talk to him, no one would notice him, nothing catastrophic would happen. 

He fussed around getting his notebook in the right spot and the recording app on his laptop open. Getting permission to record lectures had been an important factor in finally deciding to email the instructor; if he knew getting too anxious would mean completely missing material, it would just make him more anxious from the get-go. Grantaire had sat down next to him and put his feet in the next seat and was occupying himself with getting the two attached chairs to swing in rhythm. He stopped and tilted his head back when Enjolras stilled. Because there was no one else in the room, Enjolras bent forward to kiss his forehead. R crinkled his nose and sat up properly. 

“Should I go now? Or do you want me to stay?” Grantaire’s expression was neutral, probably because Enjolras had been quietly agonizing over this for days, and his husband didn’t know which option would please him more. Enjolras didn’t know either. He did know normal people did not, as a rule, bring their significant others to classes they weren’t enrolled in, but as much as he desperately wanted to fake his own normalcy, it was so, so, so hard to send Grantaire away from him. “Enjolras, telling me to go actually get some work done is not the same as abandoning me.” He frowned.

“Grantaire, you know if it were remotely practical, I would choose to have you here.” 

Grantaire turned a little red, but said, “Who says I would want to sit here and learn boring legal shit? Bahorel doesn’t complain for no reason.” He stood up and took out his phone and FaceTimed Enjolras. “Give me eight minutes plus however long it takes to buy a tea.” He leaned forward and kissed Enjolras, which made him feel warm, until R used the distraction to sneak his arm by to knock his notebook and pen and laptop out of alignment and laughed as he went out the door. By the time Enjolras had rearranged everything to his liking, he could tell from the video on his phone that Grantaire was most of the way to the nearby art library. It had seemed too convenient at first, when they had come to visit, but he was trying to take Marius’s advice that not everything had to be extraordinarily difficult as a matter of course. And while any public space Grantaire could work in would’ve sufficed, Enjolras did feel better that this was special. R more than deserved it. 

After fourteen minutes, he received an incoming Skype call on his laptop and answered to see Grantaire sitting in a carrel. He waved silently, knowing Enjolras had muted his laptop already, and Enjolras waved back as he adjusted the video to fit in the corner of his screen. He grew hot when he realized a few other students had trickled in, but they were all sitting in front of him and didn’t seem to have noticed. The instructor arrived and made small talk with the other students, ignoring him. Every time he felt his heart start to race or his stomach started to churn, he glanced down at the video and felt a little better; Grantaire was still sitting in the library, still working, still completely unharmed. He was also still very cute, and he only got cuter the more absorbed in his work he got. 

The first hour and a half of class passed smoothly, and Enjolras was surprised to see how much time had passed when looked at the clock. He had several pages of handwritten notes and more typed on the presentation as he followed along. A few students in front of him started shifting restlessly, probably waiting for the lunch break. He looked at the video of Grantaire again, and then had to focus on not tapping his pencil in what would not doubt be an annoying way. Grantaire had promised, every time that Enjolras worried about it, that he would be waiting for him outside when they were dismissed, but so many things could go wrong. What if they were dismissed early? What if Grantaire was so caught up in his work that he forgot to stop? What if the video was faked somehow and Grantaire was already gone? 

He was pulled from his thoughts by his phone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out and answered Grantaire’s FaceTime call and propped it up against his laptop screen. He knew he should’ve felt guilty for having absolutely no idea what was discussed for the last half hour of class, but that seemed less important when they were released and R was standing patiently in the hall. Enjolras took his hand and was able to resist the urge to put an arm around him until they found a clear, sunny spot on the lawn to sit. R let him put his head on his shoulder and was quiet until Enjolras finally felt settled. 

“How was class?” Grantaire asked, reaching for Enjolras’s backpack to take out his lunch for him. He gave no sign that any of this was abnormal, or that this was certainly not how the rest of Enjolras’s classmates were spending their lunch hour. 

“It was interesting,” Enjolras said and unwrapped his sandwich. It made him feel good R had made this for him, and he felt bad he could acknowledge that but still be unable to watch him work in the kitchen without getting upset. It didn’t make any sense. He reached out and rubbed Grantaire’s back. “Thank you for helping me like that. It really did help.”

“It wasn’t too distracting?” R asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but he did share, “You are very cute when you’re concentrating.” Grantaire blushed and took a giant bite of his own sandwich to avoid having to respond. That was cute, too.

When their hour was nearly up, Grantaire walked him back and they went through the same routine. The second half of class passed similarly, and Enjolras managed to only miss out on the last twenty minutes of lecture. He told himself catching up would give him something productive to do while Grantaire had his therapy session. 

It was a long bus ride back to the therapist’s office, and when Grantaire stared at his lap instead of taking out his book, Enjolras asked if he could see what his husband had spent half a day working on. This made Grantaire squirm, like normal, but when he took out his tablet and showed Enjolras a few things, R slowly brightened as he explained his ideas, also like normal. Enjolras honestly didn’t understand half of what R said, but he did understand the work made his husband happy and that it all looked very professional and well-crafted. There was that twinge of possessiveness, but he was thrilled R’s talent was being noticed and that he was the one lucky enough to be attached to him. If there ever was an exhibition, or showing, or whatever artists did, Enjolras would probably need to get Combeferre an invite as well, so that someone would be willing to tell him if he got too obnoxious promoting his husband. He just wanted the whole world to know.

Grantaire dimmed when they got off the bus down the block from his therapist’s office. They walked there hand-in-hand, and after Grantaire signed in, Enjolras rubbed his shoulder. When Grantaire was called back, Enjolras took his laptop out with the intention of listening to the lectures he had missed, but he kept seeing his husband’s downcast expression, and it was even harder to concentrate now. 

He gave up and spent the rest of the hour perusing the Internet for something fun they could do together that coming weekend. While Grantaire always seemed to know what was going on and could offer up multiple options for any day Enjolras asked about, it didn’t seem fair to always expect that; he hoped it would make him happy if Enjolras suggested something for once. He was glad he had made a note of his ideas, because he promptly forgot them when Grantaire came back, eyes red, a tissue poking out of his sleeve. 

His husband took his proffered hand but didn’t look at him as they left. “Do you want to walk or take the subway?” he asked, but Grantaire only shrugged and kept staring at the ground. Enjolras decided they could likely get home faster by power-walking, and he set a quick pace, hoping the sun and fresh air would be more restorative than a crowded train underground close to rush hour. 

When they got home, he went to the bathroom to put on his pajamas and then settled on the couch to find one of His Shows on Netflix while Grantaire rustled around upstairs. He eventually came back down wearing Enjolras’s largest hoodie, though it might be more accurately described as R’s hoodie now, considering that Enjolras was only permitted to wear it when his husband wanted the scent refreshed. He patted the space beside him and let Grantaire lay against his chest and get comfortable. Once he settled, Enjolras drew their weighted blanket up to Grantaire’s shoulders and then put their lightweight summer blanket on top of that, pulling it over Grantaire’s head and tucking it around him. He still had no idea how Grantaire didn’t suffocate or light on fire, but his husband had arranged himself like that enough times that Enjolras had to assume it was fine.

He put his arm firmly around R and focused on his show instead of asking questions. He had learned some things about relationships at this point. He made it through an episode and a half before Grantaire started stirring, but he left it playing as Grantaire pulled his head free; Grantaire was more likely to talk more if Enjolras was ostensibly doing something else. Trying to get Grantaire to talk in a quiet room with all of Enjolras’s attention focused on him was virtually impossible. 

Enjolras slipped his hand under the blankets and Grantaire’s clothes to his bare back. He rubbed slowly with his fingertips and said nothing. “Does it bother you I’m like this?” his husband finally whispered. 

“Of course not. Why would you bother me?”

Grantaire shifted and was quiet for a few more minutes. “She suggested that it might be a good idea for us to spend a little time apart.”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire. “We don’t have to. She can’t make us do anything.” He tried to keep the rising panic out of his voice. 

“But the whole point of going is to get better. And apparently letting my life revolve around pleasing you is not ‘healthy.’” His voice rose as everything he had been holding in from the appointment came to the surface. “I just wanted to be allowed to make you happy so badly, and then even though everything was so – I was finally able to, and then after – I thought I was going to lose that and I couldn’t stand it, but I still can – or at least I can still try-”

“You do make me very happy, R,” Enjolras assured him. 

“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to be able to stop. I don’t know if I can.” 

Enjolras blinked and looked up at the ceiling. His eyes were getting a little wet too, and not just because Grantaire was so distressed. “Have you talked about me? I mean – you don’t have to tell me what you’ve said. Just – does she know about my issues?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’ve never really brought it up. We usually don’t even have enough time for all my issues.”

Enjolras bit his lip. “It’s not fair to you, R, if she doesn’t. She can hardly ask you to work on being less codependent if I’m so anxious I need you with me at all times. Fuck, just thinking about it used to make me throw up. That’s important for her to know.”

“It just….” Grantaire swallowed noisily. “It just scares me that if I stop, you’ll figure out you’re fine without me. And I don’t know if I could-”

“Hush. R, I’m always going to need you. I promise. But it’s not fair for me to ask you to constantly give everything up for me.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I know, but it’s unfair for me to take advantage of that as much as I do.” He stared at the ceiling some more. He never realized how fascinating it could be. “I try as hard as I can to pretend I don’t have a problem, but I know I do. But it scares me too – if I stop constantly worrying, that might be when something bad finally does happen. I don’t even know what it would be like, to not be on edge all the time. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but…I’m afraid of not being afraid.”

Grantaire hummed in commiseration. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you – do you think maybe I should try therapy?” 

“Like I said, it’s not exactly fun.”

Enjolras closed his eyes. “I know. But pretending I’m fine when I’m clearly not and letting you suffer for it isn’t exactly fun either.” They were quiet as he kept rubbing Grantaire’s back. Finally, he asked, “What did she suggest? To work on spending time apart?”

“She suggested we could maybe go to the same place but each bring a friend with to spend time with separately.” Enjolras felt R curl up under his hand. “I know that’s not really that bad. I just started thinking and – it was just a lot.”

“I understand.” Enjolras knew exactly what that felt like. “If we do want to try, we could do something really small and short.” He traced a random pattern onto Grantaire’s skin. “Would you maybe want to try a therapy session together? It might make things a lot easier if she knows what we’re both like.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I like doing things for you, R.”

“Alright,” Grantaire agreed finally. “I can call and ask to change my next appointment.”

“We’ll do this together, Grantaire. I promise.” 

Grantaire hummed and settled into a more comfortable position, facing the TV. Enjolras went back to the beginning of the episode he had totally missed and actually watched it this time, enjoying R’s weight and warmth on top of him. 

When it ended and Netflix automatically queued up the next episode, Grantaire slid down Enjolras’s body until his head rested on his hip. “Can I make you feel good? Please?” His voice was already quiet and was even more muffled by the blankets. 

Enjolras hesitated. Exploring the gray area of when it was and was not a good time to have sex with a sad Grantaire was hard, precisely because it was gray. He was trying to accept that; he wanted to have sex with Grantaire because it made his husband feel good, and was doing it to make him feel better really so different from making him feel good? And it hardly felt right to deny Grantaire when he only felt comfortable to ask for it every few weeks or so. R had been denied enough. “I want you to feel good too,” Enjolras replied. 

“I suppose if I ask if I can kneel for you, I’ll get a lecture guaranteed to kill my boner?” His husband’s voice was more teasing than he had expected, but there was still a question in it. They had never done this together, and he had never done it period. He was suddenly very excited at the thought, far more than he would’ve expected; if Grantaire had proposed this to distract them both from their misery, he had been spot-on. But he definitely did not want the power differential of Grantaire kneeling while he sat on the sofa. 

“Will it be alright like this?” He shifted his hips a little to try to indicate Grantaire could arrange them as necessary within this boundary. He didn’t want to make it uncomfortable for his husband without even realizing it. Grantaire urged him to lift his hips again and tugged his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs. His head returned to his hip, and Enjolras giggled as Grantaire’s hair tickled his sensitive skin. R laughed in response, and his breath ghosted over Enjolras’s rapidly growing erection. They stayed like that for some time, R tracing the skin on his thighs, paying equal attention to every bit, including the heavily scarred sections; he seemed unbothered by them. Enjolras was continually impressed by how good R was at relaxing him and winding him up at the same time, and not just when it came to sex.

When he found it hard to hold still, and himself just plain hard, R tugged him to his side. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, surprised at how out of breath he was. He stopped being surprised when Grantaire lowered his head and took him into his mouth. If Enjolras enjoyed his hands on him, his mouth was even better. He took a minute to even get his bearings, and then he realized he was making rather embarrassing noises and he had no idea what to do with his arms. He settled for putting one hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, without any pressure. This seemed to encourage his husband even more – not that Enjolras could’ve described what he was doing; whatever it was, it felt good. He did have a vague idea he should warn Grantaire when he got close, and when he tapped his shoulder, his husband only re-doubled his efforts and then swallowed as Enjolras came, not letting go until he was clean. Enjolras slumped into the sofa, looking at the ceiling again, but he felt much different this time. He tried to pull Grantaire up to him, but his arms were virutally useless. 

R seemed to understand anyway, squirming up on his own. He was also out of breath, but Enjolras could feel he was still hard against his hip, though Grantaire did nothing about it. “That was really nice,” Enjolras said, because it never hurt to remind R that he had done well. Grantaire hummed happily. “Can I – can I touch you?” Grantaire shifted next to him. “Grantaire, you take such good care of me. I just want to do the same for you. I promise I’ll stop if you tell me to.” They also had yet to do this together, and Enjolras suddenly also wanted this.

Grantaire shifted again, and Enjolras worried for a second he was planning to leave, but he only rolled to his other side, so that they were back-to-front. When Enjolras waited for too long, Grantaire reached back and took his hand and guided it to his hip. “I’m sorry,” Enjolras whispered. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Whatever you want to do,” Grantaire said, voice thick, which wasn’t necessarily helpful, but he shouldn’t have to be helpful when he was aroused and had been denying himself for Enjolras’s sake. Enjolras still wasn’t sure how he felt about the actual physicality of touching another person, but it was something he could do for R to make him feel good, and he was sure about wanting to make him feel good. He didn’t know if he should reciprocate the teasing, but Grantaire immediately bucked into his hand when Enjolras slipped it into his pants, and he decided waiting longer would be more unpleasant than fun at this point. It was strange and messy touching his husband, but he focused on Grantaire’s breathing and aborted movements and little whimpers. He knew his technique was sorely lacking, but he did have the presence of mind to flail around with his free arm and somehow managed to come up with a few tissues, so that when he finally got in sync with the rhythm of Grantaire’s hips, he was ready. 

He tossed the wad to the floor without paying attention and spooned against R, who was still panting, and a little shaky. He pulled another blanket over them, and when Grantaire nodded, Enjolras played with his hair. He wanted to ask how he did, but he knew Grantaire had far too much to process at the moment to be giving handjob evaluations. Enjolras kissed his head when the shaking subsided. “Feeling alright?”

Grantaire nodded again. “Yeah – sorry, yeah. It’s just – a lot to take in. You don’t know how much – but for so long I tried not to-”

“Shh, it’s fine. I understand. As long as I didn’t do anything you didn’t want.”

“No. You didn’t. I promise.” Grantaire took a long, shuddering breath and exhaled, going totally limp. “It’s probably going to take awhile to – process this. Fair warning if I get all weird on you for the next five years or so.”

Enjolras snorted, and then Grantaire laughed, and then they were both laughing. He had almost caught his breath, when R reached up and tickled his ear, and then he was off again. When they both stopped, they kissed, long and gentle. “You can take as long as you need, R. I’m here. We can work through it together.”

Grantaire twisted around into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. “Together,” he mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've seen the Ferre Glare mentioned in a few places, but I don't if there was someone specific who invented the term. Credit to them if they did!


	65. Chapter Sixty-five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe this is the final chapter. Seriously - a huge thank you to everyone who commented or left kudos or just read along with me for ten months. I had no idea what was going to happen, and this experience have been totally amazing because of you guys. ^_^

Grantaire was awake but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. He could hear Enjolras typing next to him, so instead he wriggled until he could press his nose into his husband’s hip and snuggle up against his leg. Enjolras flinched but quickly reached down to pet his hair. “How is your nose so cold, R?”

Grantaire hummed, enjoying how soft the flannel of Enjolras’s pajama pants was against his face. “It must be because you’re failing in your husbandly duty to keep me warm.”

Enjolras huffed. “I am not failing,” but he pulled Grantaire’s blankets more snugly over his shoulders. 

“So the window downstairs opened itself, did it? We should call Marius to come check for ghosts.”

Enjolras actually sighed this time, but he went back to petting Grantaire’s hair. “It’s spring – we need to air out the apartment. And it’s not even that cold.” Grantaire cracked one eye open to stare pointedly at the blanket Enjolras had wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl. “OK, the absolute temperature is not that cold. We can have a debate on how it feels relatively, if you’d like.”

“Mmm, that sounds like far too much work when we both already know I’m right.” He opted to burrow deeper into the covers instead. Enjolras’s hand in his hair would’ve sent him back to sleep if not for the way his husband was now painfully pecking away at his keyboard with one hand. “I’m not going to die if you stop touching me, you know.” 

Enjolras’s hands stilled. “Are you sure? I just have a few more sentences I want to get down.” 

“I promise I’m fine. I won’t even remind you of how many times you’ve said that and a few sentences has turned into a few pages.”

Enjolras gave Grantaire’s scalp one last scratch and then withdrew his hand. “I still maintain that was one time.”

“All I’m saying is I stopped counting after fifty.” Grantaire pulled the blankets up over his head, so that Enjolras wouldn’t get distracted by his curls, because for some reason his husband had yet to lose his obsession with them. (Though “I’m not obsessed, your hair just feels nice” was what Enjolras said whenever Grantaire teased him about it, before continuing to touch just about every chance he had when they were alone together.) “As long as you don’t make me move, I don’t care how long you take to finish.”

“I appreciate that, R. I did make you tea, whenever you feel like getting up.”

Grantaire hummed again. He knew Enjolras would have put his tea in a thermos to keep it hot, and it was hard to find the motivation to move because his husband was so warm and smelled so nice. In the end it was his hunger that gave him the drive to extricate himself from the covers, if not actually get out of bed. He put his head on Enjolras’s shoulder, closing his eyes because if Enjolras was still writing that meant his article was not yet finished which meant his laptop would spontaneously combust if Grantaire looked at it. He could wait patiently for Editing Time. “I’m hungry,” he announced.

“There’s leftover pizza from last night in the fridge, if you want something now,” Enjolras said as he continued to work. 

“I know Combeferre ordered the exact amount of pizza he needed, so that means there’s either boring ass cheese from you or whatever horrible abomination Courfeyrac created this time.”

Enjolras snorted. “OK, you have to at least admit it really was only one time that Courfeyrac got every single topping at once. Combeferre can fact-check me, because he only caved because there was a sale and it didn’t cost extra.”

“You act like Combeferre caving to Courfeyrac’s whims is a very rare event. I would like to contest that claim. And you still haven’t addressed how boring your own pizza is.”

Enjolras stopped typing and sighed, though Grantaire could hear in his voice that he was trying not to smile. Combeferre was not the only one who regularly indulged his husband. “Just for today, I am willing to lift the ban on arguing about the merits of cheese pizza.”

“Just for me, you mean.”

“Fine, yes, just for you, R.” Enjolras kissed the top of Grantaire’s head. “Or you can wait until I’m done and I’ll make spaghetti.” He went back to typing, and Grantaire sat up and reached for the waiting thermos of tea, after wrapping a blanket around his torso in the same manner as his husband. Once the tea had warmed him, he had to admit the apartment did feel nicer with some fresh air flowing through it. It might even be what one might call pleasant by the afternoon. Not that they were going to be home then. He took another sip of tea and tried to think about his pending commissions instead. He didn’t think he had really moved and he definitely hadn’t said anything, but he realized Enjolras was touching his knee and looking at him. “Grantaire? What do you need?”

“Nothing. Or, I don’t know. Maybe we could go for a walk before?” He tried to muster up a smile. “I would say we don’t have to if your article is due soon, but I’m sure it doesn’t have to be in for a month.”

“Three weeks. And I would drop it even if it were due today.” Enjolras kissed his temple. “Do you want me to stop now?”

“No. No, this is fine. Honestly.” That was true – sitting in bed pressed against Enjolras and drinking the tea he had gotten up to make him and being able to look at him when he was all cute and concentrated was fine. And a walk would be fine too – he still got a little giddy walking around in public as a couple with Enjolras (even though he knew that was mushy and ridiculous,) and it would be nice to be out in the spring sunshine, and he might even see something to inspire him for his next project. But he knew he wasn’t really going to feel fine until later. He knew he could talk to Enjolras about what was worrying at him and keeping him down, and he even (truly) knew that Enjolras would tell him that the result didn’t matter and that he loved him no matter what and would give him extra cuddles in private and be more obnoxious about making sure other people saw them holding hands in public and would text Musichetta to make one of his favorites for dinner instead of whatever she had planned on bringing and let him have some silly, pointless argument with him and would probably (since this would undoubtedly be deemed a Problem To Be Solved) ask Feuilly about what sort of art supplies he should spoil Grantaire with this time. But he had thought it over, and while he was still fucking ecstatic that Enjolras loved him unconditionally, he was doing this for him, and he didn’t want to discuss it until he actually had an answer, good or bad. 

“If you say so,” Enjolras agreed, even as he pushed his lap desk down to his knees and started thrashing around in his blankets, until he had pulled off his hoodie (the one that was Grantaire’s absolute favorite, as demonstrated by how worn it had become,) and he draped it over Grantaire’s head.

“This isn’t how one usually wears a hoodie, Enjolras.”

“Well, I can’t be expected to know, since I hardly get a turn.” Grantaire set his thermos back on the nightstand and unwrapped his own blankets to put it on. He pulled the fabric up over his nose and breathed in. The smell was just right – Enjolras must have washed it yesterday and then slept in it. He stayed like that for a few minutes, just enjoying the comfort, but when Enjolras noticed, he stopped typing again and put his hand on Grantaire’s. “Bad day after all?”

Those were fortunately few and far between now, though they still happened. Usually now he only felt depressed when there was something particularly triggering, like his doctor appointments, but there was still the odd day when his memories came back for no reason at all, and getting out of bed was a challenge. He was grateful that Enjolras had the capacity to work from home just about any day he needed to, or even just take it off, and that all Marius and Courfeyrac did was text him memes in an effort to cheer him up. (Sometimes it only worked because Marius’s made so little sense he couldn’t help but laugh.) He had also begrudgingly let Enjolras rub off on him a little and tried to plan for all his work to be done ahead of time, so if he did need to take an unplanned break, he wouldn’t fall behind. This was more helpful than he had expected, since not having to feel guilty and stressed about not working saved him from spiraling into feeling even worse, which had always made it even harder to get started again. “No, I promise I’ll feel better afterwards.” (Or he was going to be a mess. He was Schrödinger’s Grantaire for now.)

Enjolras looked skeptical and set his lap desk on his nightstand. Grantaire’s stomach still dropped a little when this happened, even though he knew all that would happen was Enjolras giving him undivided attention and showering him with affection. Sure enough, Enjolras opened the blanket around his shoulders and pulled Grantaire against his chest and wrapped them back up together. They sat quietly like that for some time, and then Enjolras tentatively put his hands on Grantaire’s arms. Grantaire paused and then nodded. “Are you sure, R?” Enjolras prompted, as he always did for this. Grantaire was surprised he wasn’t asked to sign a legal document giving permission, and teasing Enjolras about that was a surefire way to make him cutely grumpy. (He didn’t know it was possible to be uptight about taking care of someone until Enjolras.) 

“Yes, you can go ahead.” Enjolras fussed unnecessarily with the comforter to demonstrate that Grantaire’s arms were hidden from sight before rolling Grantaire’s sleeves up to his elbows. Enjolras very gently started stroking Grantaire’s skin with his fingertips, just the right balance between tickly and firm. Grantaire focused on taking deep breaths through the first few moments, like he always had to, no matter how much he wanted this and enjoyed it, and then the fear faded gradually as his husband continued touching. Other than sex, this had been the hardest thing for him, but once he had consented to let Enjolras touch his scars, he was almost immediately glad he had. As happy as Enjolras always was to speechify about how much he loved and accepted every bit of Grantaire, a physical demonstration had relieved so much of his anxiety and doubt. And every time Enjolras comforted him in this way, he always felt a little more secure, and a little amazed. (Enjolras always tried to remind Grantaire that he touched all of Enjolras’s scars without hesitation or judgment and this was just a reciprocation of that, and Grantaire usually managed to keep his disagreement to himself, if it meant Enjolras wouldn’t stop.) 

This had even given him the courage to wear short sleeves when in the company of their friends, on occasion. He had almost thrown up the first time he had done it, only able to stop himself because he knew they knew what he had done, even if they didn’t know what his arms looked like exactly. He had worn a jacket to Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s apartment, so he could’ve put it back on in case of disaster, but it had been very anticlimactic, and no one had mentioned it or stared or asked questions, awkward or not. (He suspected asking Enjolras to mention his plan in advance to Combeferre had resulted in a stern group text about not making it a Big Deal under threat of Glaring.) (Jehan had sent flowers the next day and turned up later in person to provide instructions on their care and Musichetta had brought a macaroni casserole, but everyone pretended like it was just because, so it had been alright.) Maybe one day he would feel comfortable enough to be uncovered in public, or to let Enjolras touch his arms while looking at them, but if this was how he went on forever, he was content.

When he felt like he had indulged too much, he kissed Enjolras on the cheek, which always made his husband blush because he was silly. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to fall asleep.”

“I would tell you that’s fine, but I suppose that wouldn’t be very conducive to getting to your appointment.” He pushed Grantaire’s sleeves back down and then pulled his arms out from under the covers to kiss his hands. “I’ll let you know when lunch is ready.” Grantaire did let himself roll to Enjolras’s side of the bed after his husband had gone down the stairs and indulged in the lingering warmth and scent before dragging himself up, once his hard-on had subsided. He brought Enjolras’s laptop down with him and put it by his bag. He collected his sketchbook and a few pencils, now feeling good enough to maybe manage to do something later. They ate lunch with their knees touching. 

When Enjolras was finishing up the dishes, Jehan texted Grantaire asking if he would like to go with them to an exhibition on Saturday. He checked the calendar he shared with Enjolras to make sure he remembered correctly that he was going with Combeferre and Feuilly to a town hall meeting that day. Or something like that. (He did remember how earnest Enjolras had looked while explaining it. The actual content had gotten a little…lost.) (He explained the exhibition to Enjolras as they started their walk, and he had a feeling that same thing was happening in reverse, and it made him blush a little.) 

They wandered for awhile, in the general direction of the hospital, and it was nice to be outside and moving. They eventually stopped in a little park and found a warm bench in the sun. They held hands in companionable silence until Enjolras started to get a little antsy, and Grantaire let go so Enjolras could get back to his article. He watched out of the corner in his eye and then finally gave in and decided it was time for his next regularly scheduled sketch of ENJOLRAS. (Hey, he said he would manage to do something that day, not that that something would be actual work.) While he had the misfortune of going prematurely gray around the temples, in an exciting preview of what was to come, that fucker who was his husband had just developed small streaks of white, which only served to make him look blonder, especially in the sun like this. It almost hurt to look at sometimes, but Grantaire was willing to take one for the team. (Team Grantaire.) For a quick sketch, he was happy with what he came up with, and he was very happy when Enjolras’s feedback was a tender look and a kiss on the mouth.

They took the train the rest of the way to the hospital, and Enjolras was careful not to let go of his hand and to keep squeezing it. The anxiety was really building now, and Grantaire kept reminding himself to breathe, breathe, breathe. They stepped aside once in the hospital, out of the way of the doors, and Enjolras took both his hands. “I’m going to be in the cafeteria, and I’ll see you after your appointment.”

Grantaire squeezed his husband’s hands. “Yes, I’ll meet you there when I’m finished.” Enjolras kissed his forehead and they went their separate ways.

His ultrasound appointment went smoothly. He always scheduled it with the same nurse, and they would always chat about his art, and then she would always (at least so far) tell him everything looked normal. He had loathed these appointments at first, having to partially expose himself every six months just to be told the same thing every time, but now it was nice to catch up with a good acquaintance and have his continued good health confirmed. He knew it eased Enjolras’s mind, too. 

His next appointment was much worse. He could feel his palms start to sweat as he checked in with the receptionist, and it only got worse as a nurse brought him to an exam room, took his vitals (Why was his heart rate so high? What a mystery.), and instructed him to strip from the waist down and cover himself with a paper gown. She was overly cheerful when she added Grantaire could keep his socks on and chirped that the doctor would be in shortly. (Literal cold feet weren’t the ones he was worried about at the moment.) He reluctantly did as instructed, and he also took off Enjolras’s hoodie, not wanting the comfort it brought him tainted by what was about to happen. (He did hide it under his jeans on the chair – he could preserve a little dignity for himself.)

“Hello, Grantaire,” said Combeferre as he entered. “How are you today?”

“I’ll feel better when this is over,” he admitted, trying not to rub the crinkly paper gown. 

“Very understandable. I know you must have put quite a bit of thought into this, and I’m not trying to patronize you. I just want to verify you would still like me to perform the exam. Joly is here today, or I could get another colleague, if you’d prefer.”

“No.” Grantaire picked at a spot of paint on his palm and didn’t look up. “It’s better for it to be someone who knows but doesn’t know – everything.”

“That’s perfectly fine. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. Do you want anyone else to be present?”

“No!” Grantaire scraped at his skin a little harder after hearing how loud he had been. “No. I know you’re not going to hurt me or anything. It just – it still fucking sucks.”

“That tends to be the general sentiment for everyone, if that helps any,” Combeferre said drily. “Do you have any specific concerns?”

“It’s-” Grantaire stopped and swallowed before his voice could crack. “It’s been a long time. Like several years a long time. You know.”

“I understand. There is going to be some physical discomfort, but given that I see no reason your body shouldn’t have continued to heal, I highly doubt there will be any pain, though I recognize the line between the two is different for everyone. I will certainly not cause you any pain on purpose.”

“I know.” Grantaire swallowed again. “I brought – is it OK if I listen to some music, while….”

“Of course, if that will help make you more comfortable. This should only take one to two minutes.” Combeferre looked at his tablet again and then set it on the counter. “There are two ways to do this: you can bend over the table or you can lie on your left side in the fetal position.”

Grantaire didn’t think self-describing as “better” was inaccurate, but he knew he was definitely not “bend over a table better.” “On – on my side.” He had visualized staying firm and calm during this whole ordeal. At least he was managing the calm part. Mostly.

“Of course,” Combeferre repeated, and he went to the sink to wash his hands. Grantaire took the time to fumble with his phone and headphones, still sitting upright, and the constriction in his chest eased when he saw he two texts from Enjolras – one with his go-to heart emoji several times (“Because how am I supposed to find any of these if they’re not on the favorites menu, Grantaire?) and the other complaining about comments he gotten an article from People Who Just Didn’t Get It. Grantaire resisted sending him back a snowflake emoji to push his button and instead selected his chosen song (the most annoying one he could find, so that he didn’t ruin anything he actually liked) and curled up on the exam table. He was completely covered by the gown, and he knew that, as a doctor, this exam didn’t even register as anything extraordinary for Combeferre. He reminded himself that he was not gross or dirty or unclean, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still feel exposed and uncomfortable. He appreciated Combeferre had pointed out this put him in rather large company.

“Are you ready, Grantaire?” Combeferre asked.

“Yes,” he said evenly enough that he was proud of himself, though the effect was lost when he squeezed his eyes shut reflexively. He believed Combeferre when he said there would be no pain, but no one had touched him there for years. He had contemplated fingering himself when he jerked off in private, but he had never been able to bring himself to do it, and he hadn’t been able to think about doing it in front of Enjolras. The not knowing was fucking awful, but even thinking about doing it had dredged up so many bad memories, and the fear of finding himself still terribly scarred was too much, and it had all seemed like an unnecessary emotional price to pay when he now had so many memories with Enjolras he could now get off to guilt-free. (And while he knew Enjolras would probably be willing to try fingering him if he had but asked, it seemed like something he should try to work on himself first. He knew Enjolras didn’t often enjoy the physicality of sex, even if he was so damned determined to always reciprocate in some way, and it hardly seemed fair to ask him to do something so monumental if there was a strong chance Grantaire would go to pieces on him.) 

“This will be a bit cold and uncomfortable. We can stop at any time if it gets to be too much.” And then the finger was in him, and Grantaire first tried to remind himself it belonged to Combeferre and not – him, and then he tried just to focus on the music in his ears (if it were Joly, they would have had to call a timeout for a lecture about volume and hearing damage by now.) That was a Sisyphean task, given that every time he managed to zone out for a few seconds, there would be another probe that brought him back to reality. (He was determined not to let himself disassociate to escape, because there was nothing that required escaping from. He had promised himself that if he did get that bad, he would just tell Combeferre to stop.) 

“All done,” Combeferre said, loudly enough Grantaire thought he might be repeating himself. He sat up so quickly he was almost dizzy. Combeferre had disposed of the glove and was washing his hands again. “I’ll step out so you can get dressed.” In his haste, Grantaire stumbled over to the chair that held his clothes, and he felt much more secure once he was fully clothed and he had shoved the gown into the trash can. (That would really show it.) Combeferre knocked and only came back in when Grantaire called that it was alright. He sat down on the rolling stool and made a few more notes on his tablet. He looked up when he had finished. “Very good news, Grantaire. Everything appears to have healed. I didn’t identify any areas of concern.”

“It’s – I’m better?”

“Yes. I can’t say for certain, but you likely have been fully healed for quite some time. I would hypothesize it took longer than usual because your immune system was so weakened and so preoccupied with more pressing matters, but time was the healer you needed.” 

He was going to stay calm and firm. He was going to stay calm and firm. “So Enjolras and – we could, you know….” He hated that he was turning red. How many terribly crude sex jokes had he made before without batting an eye? The answer to that didn’t matter because trying to talk to his husband’s best friend about them doing anal was a completely different ball game.

“If you would like to be on the receiving end of anal intercourse, as long as you go slowly and listen to your body, you should not feel pain. You mentioned that it has been some time for you, so I would just recommend proceeding carefully and not being afraid to back off if necessary.” Combeferre said this perfectly calmly, like he discussed his best friend’s sex habits regularly. Or at all. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m sure I could find some pamphlets if you’d like.”

Grantaire laughed despite himself and put his face in his hands. “Please don’t make me read clinical sex pamphlets with Enjolras. I don’t think I would survive.”

“Very well. I will make a note that you declined counseling.” Combeferre smiled a little bit and then turned serious again. “Grantaire, I’m sure you’re aware of the statistics, and while we could certainly debate how accurate they are, I think we can agree on the fact that there are many gay men that don’t make anal intercourse a part of their relationship. I’m not trying to intrude on your healing process or your sex life or anything like that. Just keep in mind that there’s nothing you have to do to prove your relationship with Enjolras is ‘real.’ I’m sure he’d be the first to remind you of that.”

“He would,” Grantaire agreed, almost feeling warm at the thought of the lecture Enjolras would give him if he suggested they had to go all the way or turn in their marriage certificate. “Does Courfeyrac know he doesn’t have to loudly boast of your shared exploits to make your relationship real?” he added, a little unsure of his footing, but he couldn’t help but he laughed when Combeferre turned bright red and busied himself cleaning his glasses.

“I suppose if you’re going to say things like that, you’re ready for the appointment to be over and to be friends again instead of doctor and patient?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? I can walk you to the cafeteria if you’d like. If you don’t want to discuss this just yet, I can say I bumped into you in the hall.”

“No, I think I’ll be alright by myself for a few minutes.” He took his bag from the chair. “And how did you know Enjolras is waiting for me there?”

“If I recall correctly, I said nothing about Enjolras being there. But the fact is that is where he always waits for you after appointments. It’s hardly necessary since you’re a married couple, but you are rather obvious.” He blinked, which was probably the Combeferre equivalent of rolling his eyes. He shook Grantaire’s hand, and he was graceful enough to only smile a little when the long sleeve of Enjolras’s hoodie got in the way on the first attempt. 

He texted Enjolras as he walked down the hall to let him know he was finished, even though he guessed his husband might be so engrossed in his work he wouldn’t even see the notification. It was getting close to dinner time, and the cafeteria was fairly crowded, but he easily spotted Enjolras sitting at a table with his back to the wall. Several people were circling around looking for empty tables, but his husband had aggressively covered his table in papers, despite the fact he kept all his notes for his freelance writing electronically. (Grantaire hadn’t even known it was possible to aggressively claim a table like that until he had seen Enjolras give a demonstration.) He rapped on the table when he approached, and Enjolras looked up with a glare already in place, but instantly softened when he saw it was Grantaire. 

Enjolras quickly pushed his sleeves down and tucked in his thumbs in a well-practiced gesture and then took Grantaire’s hand. “Hi, R,” he said almost shyly, and Grantaire just stayed still and soaked in Enjolras rubbing his palm with his thumb after all his earlier stress. Combeferre had lifted a weight from his shoulders, but still, nothing could compare to the quiet comfort of their rituals. (And he had even sort of gotten used to the idea that he had comforting rituals with Enjolras.) Enjolras squeezed his hand, and Grantaire sat down. His husband pushed a bagel with cream cheese across to him. “I got this for you, but no pressure if you don’t feel like eating.” He was almost shy again, even though he did this after all of Grantaire’s appointments.

Grantaire didn’t think he felt hungry, and he could feel a headache coming on after the tension of the day, but he made himself eat, and he did feel much better when he finished. “How did it go?” Enjolras asked, pushing papers around on the table. 

“My liver still looks fine.”

Enjolras’s shoulders relaxed, but he kept fussing with his papers. “Grantaire, you don’t have to tell me, but it seemed to take a lot longer today.”

Grantaire took a breath to steady himself. He was impressed Enjolras had managed to go so long without asking, but he had known it would happen eventually. He had thought he should probably practice his response to this inevitable question, but he hadn’t been able to, since he hadn’t known what the answer would be. He fantasized for one second about jumping on the table and shouting “I can fuck again!” but he didn’t want them to be escorted out of the hospital. “It’s nothing bad,” he said quietly instead, “but could we maybe talk about it later? It’s about – stuff.”

Enjolras furrowed his brow but then nodded. “Alright. Do you still feel up to hanging out tonight? We can just go home if you’d like.”

“No, it’s really fine. I promise I’m not just saying that. Besides, I think Courfeyrac would have our heads if we didn’t go.” He reached out for Enjolras’s hand, and his husband stilled and looked at him. “Unless it would be too stressful for you to wait to talk about it? I don’t mind going home if that’s what you want.” 

Enjolras squeezed his hand and closed his eyes. “It’s nothing bad?”

“No. It’s just not something I want to discuss in public.”

Enjolras re-opened his eyes. “Alright.” He squeezed Grantaire’s hand again. “Whatever makes you happy.” 

The sun had already set by the time they walked outside, and it was too chilly for both of them, so, without needing to discuss it, they walked together to the subway to go to Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s apartment. As hard as it had been for him and Enjolras to get their shit together, the healing of their friend group had also taken time and effort. (Grantaire liked their therapist too much to suggest giant group therapy. He didn’t want to make her seek a career change.) They all spent time together in pairs and small groups, and texted each other frequently, but getting together once a week as a whole group was non-negotiable. Some weeks were easier to organize than others, when everyone’s work schedules lined up perfectly, while others were more difficult. A few times they could only manage to meet in the middle of the night for fast food when Combeferre, Joly, and Feuilly were able to slip away for breaks at the same time, but no one minded, not even the ones who had to get up a few hours later to go to work themselves. Sometimes Grantaire still caught himself being amazed how much their friends loved and cared for them, even after everything that had happened, even when they had seen the two of them at their absolute worst, and on bad days he would wonder if anyone secretly thought it was terrible he and Enjolras had married, but generally he was secure. (It didn’t hurt Éponine and Jehan would metaphorically knock some sense into him if he needed it, either.) 

Tonight was their second game night in a row, by virtue of the fact they needed to finish their round of Monopoly. Enjolras had been practically apoplectic when Grantaire had suggested it, which was why Courfeyrac had cheerfully supported the idea and worked his magic to get everyone else on board. That should have been amusing enough for Grantaire, but when he had bought up all the railroads and referred to himself as the Railroad Baron at every possible opportunity, Enjolras had gotten more and more annoyed. (The hilarity was only compounded by the fact he was oblivious to everyone adjusting their own decisions to allow Grantaire to accomplish this goal.) But since that strategy was only really good for pushing his husband’s buttons and not actually winning the game, since buying anything else would’ve ruined the effect, he had been eliminated fairly early. (He had still done better than Bahorel, though, who had tried to spend as much time in jail as possible.) Now Éponine was locked in a capitalistic duel to the death with Courfeyrac. Bossuet had been unanimously elected banker (and hadn’t actually played because he was so busy doing that,) Éponine had roped Enjolras into advising her (he had only agreed because he had decided Courfeyrac needed to lose so that he would never suggest such a terrible game ever again,) and Courfeyrac had roped in Marius, and then Combeferre (when Marius proved too gullible.) 

They arrived second-to-last, Combeferre and Joly the only two missing. Musichetta’s food was being warmed on the stove, plates set out so everyone could eat when they felt like it. Éponine was in the middle of inhaling a plate in preparation for the end of the game. Grantaire was surprisingly hungry, even after his bagel, so he made himself a plate and also brought one to Enjolras, who gave him a smile and quick kiss for his trouble. (Éponine said something unintelligible, her mouth full, that still sounded suspiciously like “That’s disgusting.”) 

Grantaire went over to the sofa, where Jehan was improbably perched on the arm. When Combeferre and Joly walked in the door together a moment later, he suddenly wished he had sat by Bahorel instead, so he could hide behind him. Maybe if he held really still, Combeferre would turn into a T-rex and wouldn’t notice him. But, after getting tackled by Courfeyrac, (this time with Éponine’s commentary clearly audible,) he only came around to say hello to everyone and make sure they had enough to drink, and said nothing particularly special to Grantaire. 

Now that everyone was in attendance, the game started back up. For having been so against it in the first place, Enjolras was now very worked up about getting Éponine her victory. Grantaire supposed he could justify it since he wasn’t actually playing, but he still didn’t want to lose. Someone put on a movie for everyone who wasn’t crowded around the table, and Grantaire let himself relax between Jehan and Joly, who had set down next to him, smiling to himself every time he heard Enjolras flipping the pages of the rule book and arguing about some obscure situation. He listened to Jehan talk about the latest poetry collection they were working on and Joly explain the research he was doing at work, and he was able to put the stress and worry from earlier completely out of his mind. (Well, mostly.) He did tense up when the conversation turned to him, because what if one of his friends had improbably guessed what had happened earlier, but they only asked about what projects he was working on and Jehan encouraged him to tell the rest of the group, now hardly paying attention to the movie, about the pieces he was exhibiting anonymously. 

Grantaire got up at one point to take his plate to the kitchen, and Enjolras made an excuse to follow him. His husband took his hand and kissed his temple. “Still alright?” he asked.

“Yeah. This is nice.” He nuzzled Enjolras back.

He blushed though when they apparently took too much time and Éponine yelled, “Enjolras, stop acting like a teenager and get your ass back over here.” It must have been important, because not long after she emerged the winner, gloating loudly enough Grantaire was surprised she didn’t demand to be carried around the apartment on everyone’s shoulders. Enjolras looked pleased with himself (and very cute while doing so.) Combeferre had the foresight to have already brought out a stack of other games to put to a vote for the next game night, before Courfeyrac could start demanding a rematch.

Grantaire left the apartment, hand-in-hand with Enjolras, everyone walking together until they had to split up, smiling the whole way. A few years ago he would’ve never believed he could even hope to feel a fraction of this happiness ever again. It would’ve sounded like a fantasy, but now it was a reality.

It was late when they arrived home. They hung up their coats, and then Enjolras pulled him into a tight hug. Grantaire felt warm and heavy and sleepy, but he didn’t want Enjolras tossing and turning all night wondering what his secret appointment had been. “Couch or bed?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire considered the options. The unspoken rule was that sex-related discussions (and sex itself) were kept separate from bed. It was backwards, but it worked for them. It gave them a safe place for sleeping and romance and intimacy without having to deal with any of their other issues. But he also just wanted to curl up under the covers with his husband for this particular talk. Besides, it’s not like him revealing he could have actual sex (his inner Enjolras interrupted to loudly remind him that any sex was actual sex) would result in them suddenly doing it. (Pun very much intended.) He didn’t even know if Enjolras would like it, since there was another unspoken rule to never discuss that act, though he guessed his husband would be willing to try it and then discuss how to proceed from there, if it were important enough to Grantaire. And, to be perfectly honest, Grantaire wasn’t sure if it was important to him any more. The few times he had let himself fantasize about it, which had led up to him gathering the courage to schedule his appointment, he had always imagined that he would blow Enjolras just the way he liked and then prepare himself, and only then would Enjolras take him. He pushed those thoughts aside, because what happened now was going to be decidedly unsexy, and Enjolras would probably want to have about eight separate discussions (minimum) before any sort of enactment took place. “Would the bed be OK? Even if it’s about – stuff.” 

Enjolras had the grace to only look surprised for a moment, and then he nodded. “Whatever makes you comfortable.” It was probably driving him insane to not know what was going on, but he showed no outward signs of impatience as they put on their pajamas (it took some digging in their dresser, but Grantaire finally found a onesie crumpled at the bottom of a drawer) and climbed into bed. After Grantaire curled into his chest, Enjolras still made sure to fuss with the blankets until they were just right, and then fussed a little more. It wasn’t like they never talked about sex, or their relationship, or what had happened and how it had affected both of those things (and they had gotten much better after lots and lots and lots of therapy,) but Grantaire wasn’t sure how to start this particular conversation. “Whenever you’re ready, R,” Enjolras said softly, no pressure in his voice. When Grantaire still couldn’t bring himself to start, Enjolras very gently started carding his hand through his curls. If it didn’t feel so nice, Grantaire would’ve called out Enjolras for being so unfair. It was too hard to be nervous when his husband treated him like this.

“So I had a – second appointment today,” he started and then trailed off. Even if he didn’t feel as nervous now, it was still hard. He focused on Enjolras’s soft and steady touch for a few minutes, until he no longer felt like bad memories were going to come flooding back in and overwhelm him. It helped when Enjolras kissed the top of his head, too. He had debated sharing the next part, but it didn’t seem right to do this without being completely honest, no omissions. “It was with Combeferre.” Enjolras hummed in acknowledgement, but that was it. At least now he’d hopefully believe nothing was seriously wrong, because Combeferre wouldn’t have allowed Grantaire to hide something like that. Grantaire took a few more deep breaths. “It was about – you know – about….”

“You’ll have to be a little more specific, R.” 

He pushed his face into Enjolras’s chest. “I wanted to know if – if I had healed – inside.” 

“And what did Combeferre say, R?” Enjolras prompted, tone soft but otherwise neutral. 

“He said that I’m – better. That if I wanted to, if we wanted to – I could. Without pain. Well, as long as we went slow and stuff.” Grantaire forced himself to stop talking before he could start rambling. He was waiting for something earth-shattering to happen, but Enjolras just kept petting him without change. Grantaire had to remind himself that as hard as this was for him, Enjolras still lacked any other experience with adult relationships or sex, and that he was probably nearly as afraid as him, of saying or doing something wrong. 

“And do you want to?” Enjolras finally asked, sounding more philosophical than eager. 

“I – I don’t know,” Grantaire admitted. “I tried not to think about it for so long, because it reminded me of – you know. And then I was so scared that I might be…damaged forever.” He didn’t have to look up to know Enjolras had made a face when he described himself as damaged. Neither he nor their therapist liked when Grantaire spoke about himself that way, but it was just too hard to reframe it when it came to his physical trauma. He had been damaged, horribly, horribly damaged. Undamaged people had no reason to ask their spouse’s best friends to shove fingers up their asses to assess the situation. If Enjolras were different, if he had desperately wanted to take Grantaire soon enough after their ordeal, Grantaire knew he would’ve acquiesced, and he knew it would’ve hurt terribly, no matter what. It would’ve been a worthy sacrifice, but it still would’ve hurt. Undamaged people wouldn’t have had to think about shit like that. “And now – I don’t know. Is it even something you would want to try?”

Enjolras toyed with the curls around Grantaire’s face. “I don’t know. It sounds like it might be – messy, but I do like the idea of the intimacy of it. If it’s important to you, and if it would make you feel good, I wouldn’t mind trying it. I think it might be good to talk about it first.” Of course Enjolras wanted to talk about it first. Even though Grantaire had predicted exactly this response, he was still tempted to roll his eyes, and that helped relax him. 

“I really appreciate that,” he said first, because he did. It was a lot of work for them to balance Enjolras’s asexuality and Grantaire’s issues around sex, and it would’ve been easy enough for Enjolras to just take it off the table completely. He would’ve been just as happy going without, but he was so fucking committed to compromise and making Grantaire equally happy that he insisted on having all sorts of uncomfortable discussions and trying things and experimenting until they found what worked for both of them. Even if they sometimes only had sex once a month, it made Grantaire feel more loved than if they had been going at it twice a day. “I guess, sometimes I think I want to, but then sometimes I think I only want to think I want to. If that makes sense.”

“You had something you enjoyed terribly corrupted for you, Grantaire. I think it’s perfectly reasonable that you like the idea of reclaiming that part of yourself without knowing if you actually want to do it.” What was unfair was how eloquent Enjolras was remaining through all this. “You know there’s no pressure to decide now, or any time soon, if you don’t want to.”

“I know. I just – it seems so silly to have spent so much time worrying if I could, if I decide I just don’t want to after all.”

“Grantaire, there’s nothing silly about wanting to be properly informed about what your own body can and cannot handle. Getting information doesn’t obligate you to act on it.” He kissed Grantaire’s head again. “You know this doesn’t change how I feel about you, right? And if the result had been – the opposite, that wouldn’t have changed my feelings either. I know exactly how much pressure you can feel from the world at large to have sex, and to want to have it, but not having it doesn’t change our relationship at all. Where we go from here is entirely up to you.” Grantaire laughed despite himself. “What?”

“Nothing. Just Combeferre basically said the same thing. And that you would say the same thing.”

“Well, there is a reason we are best friends after all.” 

They were quiet again. “Do you – do you think he ever wonders about us?” Grantaire almost wished he hadn’t asked, but sometimes that thought burrowed into his brain and he couldn’t get it out.

Enjolras thought about the question, but Grantaire could sense he wasn’t upset. “He must, in some capacity. If he even lives long enough, he’ll be a very old man by the time he gets out. We’re the reason that happened, so I can’t imagine how he could block it out entirely. I wonder if he copes by imagining we were lying when we said we were getting married, or that we are very unhappy and dysfunctional together.”

“Sorry,” Grantaire mumbled. Being dysfunctional with Enjolras had been better than being anything without him.

“Hush, Grantaire. You know we’re not supposed to blame each other, but if we were to do so, I would bear much of it for letting you look after me like that without reciprocating for so long.” He tugged Grantaire even closer. “But I think tonight might not be the best time to rehash that argument.”

“Alright,” Grantaire let himself agree. Cuddling and not arguing was a pretty good alternative, after all. But this issue was still unresolved. “Do you think – maybe if I…tried some things – alone. First. You know.” Enjolras was already perfectly aware that he got off when he was alone, just as he knew Enjolras sometimes did the same, and the fact that he was still nervous to bring it up meant that trying it together at this point would almost certainly result in an emotional disaster. 

“Of course. Grantaire, you know you can do whatever you like with yourself.” Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh again, but this time it was harder to stop. “What?” asked Enjolras again, a little peeved this time. 

“I don’t even know, Enjolras. If anyone else said something like that, it would be some truly excellent dirty talk, but you manage to make it sound like it came out of a very serious textbook or something.”

“Making sure you feel safe and comfortable with your own body is serious,” Enjolras insisted, and Grantaire could clearly hear the frown in his voice.

“I know,” he acquiesced, not wanting to have that rehash that argument again tonight either. “Your word choice was just amusing, that’s all.”

Enjolras sighed, and then he laughed too. “Whatever makes you happy.” 

Grantaire moved enough so that he could kiss Enjolras properly, and then he let himself be tucked back in for the night. It did feel good – that they could have a difficult conversation but nothing had to change in their relationship, and they didn’t need to immediately find a perfect solution. He could just curl up in his usual spot and fall asleep to the sound of Enjolras’s heartbeat and the feeling of his warm breaths ghosting through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a few people suggested Grantaire get tattoos on his arms, and I thought that was a great suggestion, but when I did some more research, I found it's not actually recommending for large and/or deep scars, so I decided to go in a different direction. Also, it only seemed to be anecdotal, but everything I found suggested anal fissures and scarring will heal if left alone for a year or two.


End file.
